


I Dream a Nation of You

by foxxcub



Category: Bandom, Empires (Band), Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Bandom Big Bang 2009, Dragon Riders, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, does anyone remember the GSF tag?, dragon rider au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 23:44:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20479445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxcub/pseuds/foxxcub
Summary: It wasn't supposed to be like this; Jon and Helia were going to leave in the middle of night, silent and unnoticed. But now there were Government patrolmen on their heels, and it dawned on Jon that the time for simple getaways had passed.(Or, a steampunk story about dragons and the boys who ride them.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title and lyrics from Franz Ferdinand
> 
> (Originally posted to Livejournal for Bandom Big Bang, June 2009)

I dream a nation of you  
A utopia for you to live in  
I dream a nation of me  
A new utopia we could live in

~~~

For such a vast room, Jon was surprised by how close the air felt. Everything smelled of hay and smoke, and the room was so very warm. He looked up at the ceiling, at the way it rose up into almost nothing, as if it were melting into the night sky; he felt terribly small, but he wasn't afraid.

"Jon, they're ready for you." His father's voice was soft and eager. Jon felt his heart begin to pound in excitement, knowing that this was the moment his father had been telling him about for the past two years, since Jon could remember. He took Jon's hand and led him through the doorway into the bonding chamber, and Jon saw the mother for the first time; tall and elegant, her long, amber body shimmering in the low light of the oil lamps mounted on the walls. Her eyes glinted green the moment Jon met her gaze, and in his mind Jon heard a kind, feminine voice say, _Hello, Jonathan Walker._

Jon's eyes widened as he gasped, stumbling backwards into his father's legs. "H-hi," he replied, and reached back to grab his father's hand.

"It's all right, son," his father said, laughing gently. "She's pleased with you, as she should be."

"She...likes me?" Jon asked. He dared to let himself look back up into the mother's eyes, and this time he could tell she was smiling.

"Yes, very much." His father untangled their hands and nudged Jon closer, whispering, "You have nothing to be afraid of, Jon."

He took a cautious step forward, then another, suddenly overwhelmed by warmth and a strange coppery smell in his nose as he drew closer to her, watching the way the light reflected off the scales along her tail. For a moment, Jon looked back over his shoulder at the other people in the room—the breeders and their son, another little boy perhaps a year or two younger than Jon. He was hiding behind his mother's legs and watching Jon with wide blue eyes.

_You're a brave boy_, the gentle voice said inside Jon's head, making him snap back to attention.

"I..." Jon's throat went dry as he looked up at the mother. He didn't know what to say or do, and how could she possibly know if he was brave or not? He'd never really done anything brave before in his life; granted, he was only six years old, but even so—

_Look_, the voice said, and her tail twitched and swung to the side, away from her body. Snuggled tightly against her stomach was a tiny golden-colored baby, no bigger than Jon himself.

It was the most beautiful baby dragon Jon had ever seen.

The mother leaned down to nuzzle the baby with her snout, and the bundle of golden scales and thin wings wriggled and made a small whimpering sound. Without being told, Jon came closer and kneeled in the hay beside it, but did not touch.

Soon the baby lifted its head toward Jon and opened its eyes slowly. They were blue eyes, so light they were nearly gray, and Jon heard one of the breeders gasp, "Oh my."

_This is Helia_, the mother said, nuzzling the baby once more. _She is yours._

Jon held his breath as he reach his hand out slowly and let his fingertips brush over the soft, smooth scales along the top of the tiny dragon's head.

_Helia_, he thought; somehow, he knew he didn't need to say the words out loud. He traced the edge of her nose reverently, never breaking his gaze. _I'm Jon._

The dragon leaned into his touch. _Jon_, she repeatedly softly, and his heart swelled.

In that instant, Jon knew he'd never let himself be parted from her as long as he lived.

_twenty years later_

The snow had come early, and Jon didn't like it at all.

"It shouldn't be this cold this soon," he mumbled as he held his hands out over the cast-iron furnace. Normally he didn't take to wearing his fingerless leather gloves until well into December, but it was only mid-October. His fingers shouldn't have been going numb by nightfall.

_I think the snow is lovely_, Helia said, flicking her tail lazily against Jon's ankle. She was curled up on her bed of wool blankets, the length of her body taking up most of the far wall of the cabin near the kitchen. Sometimes Jon was thankful she hadn't grown to be as large as her mother, that she could easily fold herself into relatively small spaces.

_You would_, Jon replied with a smirk, and kicked at her playfully. _When was the last time you even ventured out into the stuff, anyway?_

Helia lifted her head and said prissily, _I have delicate sensibilities, and unlike some, I can't wear gloves._

Jon snorted a laugh and shook his head. Helia raised an eyebrow, but eventually grinned as well. She was insufferable sometimes.

"So I guess I'm taking the trip into town alone _again_," Jon said out loud, feigning disappointment. It wasn't as if they had a choice, anyway; Helia spent most of her days in hiding, venturing out once every few weeks in the dead of night to stretch her wings. Jon hadn't ridden her in months, and the dull ache in his chest told him how much he missed it. He glanced at the trunk sitting at the foot of his bed, locked tight with a steel padlock—the leather harness and saddle, his gloves and gun, all of it tucked away under lock and key.

Helia yawned, her tail curling around Jon's ankle like a cat showing affection before sliding back around her body. _You'll survive, I'm sure_, she said. _If you stop in to see Brendon, tell him I miss his muffins._

"I'm _not_ telling him that, he'll bake you fifty million of them by tomorrow evening, and then the whole place will smell like fucking pumpkin." Helia had an affinity for everything pumpkin, and Brendon loved to spoil her. But Jon knew better than most that a spoiled dragon could be a pain in the ass.

_Spoil-sport._

_Yeah, I'm a real hard ass._ Jon shrugged on his battered leather duster and leaned down to smack an obnoxious kiss to the top of her head. _Be safe._

_Always_, she replied, curling into a tighter ball against the blankets as the cold wind tore through the door of house.

"Fucking snow," Jon sighed, and started trudging down the snow-covered road into town.

~

The town of Audrey had never been hit hard by the raids. Jon doubted many of the people living there had ever seen a dragon at all, let alone harbored Riders. Many of the stores were still in their original condition from before The Revolution, and the streets weren't blackened from fire, like many towns Jon had seen over the years. Audrey was quiet, simple, mild-mannered; and as such, the townspeople tended to look at Jon with unease.

Jon didn't care. He'd lived on the outskirts of Audrey for the past year and a half, since the safehouse in Grennling had been burned to the ground. The cabin, bought from an old, dying farmer with the little money Jon had, was enough to protect both himself and Helia, and since Audrey was mostly off the map as far as the Government was concerned, no one caused them any trouble. Here Jon could be invisible and keep Helia safe; that was all he wanted.

He pulled the tall collar of his duster closer to his neck and pushed through the front door of the little store on the corner of the square, its brass and wood sign announcing 'Finche's Market' creaking in the wind. He stomped the snow off his boots as the shopkeeper, Mr. Finche, looked up from the front counter, squinting over the tops of his bifocals.

"Walker," he said in a careful greeting, and nodded his head slowly at Jon. Jon nodded back as he made his way through the store, instantly aware of the tentative unease coming off Finche as Jon began gathering his rations for the week: a bag of oatmeal, a bottle of milk, some jerky, flour, cheese, vegetables. He was fortunate that Helia had never really developed a taste for meat—she was more than content to eat Jon's stew and cornbread.

"Snow's getting worse," Finche said when Jon finally set his things on the counter. "And it's getting dark so early. You'd think it was nearing Christmas." Behind him on the wall, a cast-iron clock chimed seven-o-clock.

"Yeah, guess so," Jon replied, keeping his head down. He never made small talk in town; apprehensive or not, the people tended to be on the nosy side. He rubbed his cold fingers together for warmth as Finche figured up his bill with clinking strokes on the ancient register, and that was when Jon spotted the pistol laying on a stool behind the counter.

Jon had never seen a gun in Audrey. He'd been told more than once that weapons weren't tolerated, and that they'd all but been banned years ago. Only the handful of law keepers kept them, and Jon seriously doubted even they carried guns on a consistent basis.

It was a goddamn miracle the raids had never come here.

Jon cleared his throat and said quietly, "Make a new purchase lately?" He jerked his chin toward the stool when Finche raised an eyebrow.

"Oh." Finche shrugged. "I'd rather not have the thing in the store, but with all the rumors circling, I took my wife's advice."

Jon frowned, and against his better judgment, asked, "Rumors?"

"Goodness, Walker, have you not read the papers lately?" Finche reached under the counter and tossed the day's paper on the counter. On the front page was a simple headline in large, bold letters: _Resistance Raids Begin_.

Jon's stomach bottomed out. He took a step back from the counter and swallowed, hard. The air in the shop felt too close, like his chest was being squeezed. "The raids have started again?" he whispered, clenching his hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

"There's some resistance movement forming, from what I hear. The Government is taking 'preemptive measures'—" Finche made lazy air quotes. "—to make sure it's nothing serious, I suppose. Rumor has it there was a raid in Brenton last week, but no one can confirm it."

Brenton was two hours north. A kind rancher had hidden Jon and Helia in his stable there before they'd made it to Audrey; Jon was nearly sick thinking about what might have happened to him. "You...you really think they'd come to Audrey?" he asked as evenly as possible as he paid for his goods.

Finche shook his head, seemingly unfazed by the conversation, but Jon immediately felt Finche's unease turn to strong anxiety. Jon considered it fear. "They left us alone during the whole Rider witch-hunting, so I can't imagine why they'd think we'd be keeping rebels." He put all of Jon's supplies into a canvas knapsack. "I don't think there's anything to be concerned about, to be honest, but my wife isn't happy unless she worries." He laughed dryly.

Jon couldn't think of a reply. He could only about how much time it would take for him and Helia to pack up whatever they needed and get the hell out of Audrey.

~

The lights of Brendon's tiny cottage were out, but Jon knew that didn't mean much; Brendon liked to curl up in bed and read by lamplight. Jon knocked twice against the cold wood, right below the gold-plated sign that read _Dr. Urie, Veterinarian_.

  
It was several moments before Brendon answered, dressed in his pajamas and robe. He blinked sleepily at Jon for a second before breaking into a wide smile. "Oh hey!" he said, then promptly yawned. "Sorry, I was up late last night with a sick horse. Thought I'd turn in early."

There were very few things Jon liked about Audrey, but Brendon was definitely one of them. For the first time in ages, Jon felt almost reluctant to leave a place. He'd kind of forgotten what it was like to have a friend who couldn't read his thoughts.

"God, come in, Walker, it's freezing!" Brendon held the door open wider for Jon, holding his robe tightly to his chest.

Jon took a deep breath and said, "We're going to leave."

The smile slid off Brendon's face. Jon winced at the fierce stab of shock and hurt that hit him square in the gut—Brendon's emotions were never far from the surface. "What? You mean, as in leave Audrey? You and Helia?"

"We can't stay here anymore." Jon dropped his voice, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "I saw the paper, Bren. I know about the new wave of raids."

"But you don't know for certain they'd come here, that's the whole _reason_ you stayed." Brendon grabbed Jon's wrist and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. "You said so yourself, Audrey's safe."

"Nowhere's safe, not really." Jon wondered if he still had his maps of the low country and the surrounding plains; he and Helia could fly through the night and hide in the forests until—

"I bought a gun. You can have it."

Jon jerked out of his thoughts and glared at Brendon. "You don't have any fucking business owning a gun, you _hate_ guns." Something tight and painful pulled at his chest, warring with the determination and fear that radiated off Brendon. It wasn't his fault Brendon had grown up sheltered and oblivious to what the Government could really do to its people, but sometimes Jon felt guilty that Brendon was beginning to learn the truth.

Brendon tipped his chin up defiantly. "Unlike everyone else in this town, I like to be prepared." He'd yet to drop his hand from around Jon's wrist. "Just. You don't even know where you're going, do you?" He glanced down at his hand, letting Jon go with a sigh.

"We'll figure something out."

"You've asked Helia about it?"

Jon flushed. "Not yet, but I know she'll—"

"Bullshit, she knows you're as safe here as anywhere."

Jon wanted to make a snippy comment about how Brendon could never really know what's in Helia's mind, but he held back. Instead, he sighed and said, "I was on my way back from the market." He dropped the knapsack on the floor, where the snow from his boots was melting onto Brendon's rug. "I figured since you were on my way, I'd break the news to you."

"Before breaking the news to your dragon," Brendon shot back, but he immediately shook his head and put his arms around Jon, hugging him tight. Jon had let Brendon hug him only one other time, and that had been the night they'd first met, when Jon thought Helia was going to die.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, but please don't go, Jon, please," he whispered into Jon's shoulder. "At least stay another day until we can figure something out."

Jon knew he should say no. The sooner they slipped out of town before trouble came, the better. He could hear Frank's voice in his head, saying over and over, _You gotta survive, kid. That's all that matters._ For the millionth time, Jon wished he knew if Frank were still alive himself.

But Brendon's hold was firm, warm, and above all, _comforting_. No matter how much Jon told himself that he only needed to know Helia was safe and alive to be happy, it was the comfort he missed the most. And Brendon knew how to give it in spades.

"I'll stay a few more days," Jon replied softly, letting his hand rest gently against Brendon's lower back. "But that's all."

Brendon pulled back and beamed at him. "We'll figure something out, all right? Now." He held up one finger and ran down the hall to the kitchen. "I'm going to make you some tea and Helia some pumpkin bread, what do you say? I'll be over in a few hours."

Jon couldn't bring himself to protest. "She'll love you forever and ever," he replied as he hefted the knapsack onto his shoulder to brave the cold once more.

~

A few days turned in to a week, which then turned into two.

_They haven't come yet_, Helia said one evening as Jon set a bowl of stew out for her with a slice of Brendon's pumpkin bread. _Maybe Brendon's right, maybe we should just stay—_

"We can't, you know that," Jon replied wearily, even though he knew he'd been reluctant to actually pack their things and make it seem real. They'd both been holding their breath, waiting for something to happen to spur them into action. That, and Brendon had barely left them alone for more than a day since Jon announced they were leaving.

_It helps knowing someone, Jon, having a friend. It's not like the old days with Frank and Gerard—_

_You don't think I know that?_ Jon glared at her, making Helia fold her wings tight against her body.

_I'm only saying that Brendon cares about us, and maybe that's more important in the end._

"Nothing matters in the end but staying alive." Jon sighed, rubbing both hands over his face. He was so tired of running, always running, and they were putting Brendon in danger by staying. Brendon tried to act like he didn't understand the threat, but he did; Jon may not have been the strongest telepath, but he felt the surge in Brendon's pulse when he lied, felt the anxious dread whenever a car engine roared in the distance. He'd never seen a Government motorcade, but Jon had told him enough about them.

Brendon was terrified, and it was their fault.

In that moment, Jon made up his mind to leave at dawn. Helia lifted her head from her bowl, her eyes flashing blue, but said nothing in return.

Then, suddenly, there was hard, desperate pounding on the cabin's door.

Jon's heart nearly flew out his mouth. He only allowed himself moments of scared vulnerability in front of Helia, and he looked at her with wide, frightened eyes—_We're too late, fuck._

Helia tilted her head toward the door, but then slowly shook her head. _No, Jon, it's not that. Whoever's out there doesn't mean us harm._

But Jon's hands were already shaking as he fumbled with the lock on the chest at the foot of his bed, throwing the lid open and grabbing his rifle, loaded with the few bullets he still possessed. The pounding grew more insistent, and Jon could barely breathe.

_They're not going to take you_, he thought fiercely as he stood in front of the door, rifle aimed and ready.

Helia hunched down, ears flat against her head, wings folded tight, her body curved around the table. The tip of her tail pressed against Jon's back. _They won't, Jon._

He closed his eyes, counted to three, and flung the door open.

Standing in the doorway were two men, damp with snow and sweat. The thinner of the two was holding the other, taller man upright; it seemed to be taking all his strength to stay standing, and it dawned on Jon that he'd been shot.

He didn't lower his rifle. "Get the hell out of here," Jon growled, carefully positioning his body in the doorway to block any sight of Helia.

The thinner man shook his head, his eyes wide, pleading. "Please," he whispered. "My friend's been shot, and the men who did it aren't far behind us."

Jon lost his breath all over again. "You're Resistance?" he said over the barrel of his gun.

The man nodded shakily, staggering a little under the weight of his unconscious companion. "We—we are. I wouldn't ask this of anyone, but I don't know what else to do, they'll kill us—"

Instantly, Jon felt Helia's thoughts wrap around his own. _Let them in, Jon, please. Trust me._

With a heavy sigh, Jon lowered his rifle. "All right," he said. "But—you must know that—that I'm—"

But he was already pushing past Jon into the cabin, only he came up short the second he laid eyes on Helia. "You're a Rider," he breathed, sounding both awed and terrified as Helia rose to her full height and shook her wings a little.

Jon slammed the door. "I am, and if you think you're gonna cause trouble, I swear to fucking—"

"No, no, I wouldn't dream of it, I grew up with Revolutionaries." The man swallowed and slowly tore his eyes away from Helia. He shifted his companion's weight against his shoulder, wincing.

Helia flicked her tail across the table, pushing the soup bowls aside. _Put him on the table_.

"We should get him on the table," Jon said, and it was strange, the way the man blinked at Helia for a moment before doing as instructed with Jon's help. They got his coat and scarf off, and Jon grabbed a pillow off his bed to prop the wounded man's neck up.

"I'm Ryan, by the way," he said, nodding his head at Jon. Then he bit his lip and pushed the damp hair off his friend's forehead. "This is Spencer." Jon felt fear and remorse rolling off of Ryan, along with deep affection. The two had to be very close.

"You'll forgive me for not shaking hands," Jon replied tightly as he shrugged into his leather duster. Spencer's right shoulder was soaked dark red. "But it looks like Spencer needs more than what my abilities will allow. I'm going to get a doctor."

He took his rifle with him, sprinting down the road to Brendon's.

~

"I can't do this, Jon." Brendon wrung his hands as he stood over Spencer's body. "This isn't a horse or a sick greyhound, this is a _human being_ with a goddamn bullet in his shoulder." But his medic bag was beside him on the floor, and Jon knew Brendon wouldn't have brought it if he'd thought there was no possible way for him to help.

"All you need is to get the bullet out, right?" Ryan was pacing so frantically alongside the table, Jon expected him to start wearing a groove into the floorboards. He tried to ignore the fact that Ryan's hands were stained with Spencer's blood, that the white collar of his shirt was streaked red as well.

"I...yes." Brendon finally took a deep breath and opened his medic bag. "But you're going to have to hold him. I don't have any tranquilizers—at least, none for humans."

Ryan frowned. "But he's out cold."

"Doesn't matter. He'll feel it." Brendon glanced over his shoulder at Jon, who was curled up against Helia's side on her pile of wool blankets, knees drawn to his chest as he silently watched the proceedings. "You need to help, too."

Jon took a deep breath and rubbed a hand against his temple. He wasn't used to being in close quarters with so much intense emotion; the constant hum of worry and guilt from Ryan mingled with the anxiety and doubt vibrating off Brendon was enough to make Jon's head pound. "Can't you just strap him down?" he mumbled, avoiding Ryan's eyes.

"With what?" Brendon flailed his hand around. "This isn't exactly an operating room, Jon." His voice was sharper than normal, higher, and Jon grimaced as he felt Brendon's fear rush through him like a spark of heat.

There was a soft nudge at his shoulder. _Go help him_, Helia said, firm but gentle. _Be human for once._

Jon sighed heavily, but didn't argue. The sooner Spencer was treated, the quicker these two were out of his house and on their way; for all he knew, Government patrolmen were searching all of Audrey this very moment.

Spencer's shirt had been removed, the blood cleaned from around the wound. His skin was sickly pale, his lips nearly gray; Jon closed his eyes and looked away into the fire, swallowing against the cold clench of his stomach. He knew what a dying man looked like, and he'd told himself he'd never see it again, not if he had a choice.

"All right," Brendon said slowly, holding up a small silver clamp. It looked like the device Jon had seen him use to pull teeth from dogs' mouths. "Just...just hold his shoulders steady. It'll probably be a few seconds before the pain registers to his brain. Here." He tossed Jon a damp cloth. "Keep the blood from going everywhere."

"This'll work, right?" Ryan asked, his hands gripping Spencer's shoulders tight enough to turn his knuckles white. Jon felt the pounding in his head turn into a painful throb. "The bullet's not that deep, he was only shot a few hours ago, it shouldn't be—"

"I'll do what I can." Brendon cut him off with a terse glare, and Jon knew that meant he was nervous as hell.

Jon held the cloth against the skin below the bullet hole, trying to focus over the pain in his head and the increasingly overwhelming flood of emotions in the room. "Tell us what to do," he said simply, quietly, his free hand curled around Spencer's bicep.

Brendon sucked in a loud breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked a little more steady. "Hold him," he said once more, finally leaning over Spencer's shoulder to dig into the wound with the clamp.

For the first few seconds, Spencer didn't move at all. But then his breath caught and he began to gasp, his face contorting in pain. He moaned, and the sound grew louder each time Brendon shifted the angle of the clamp.

The throbbing in Jon's head became almost unbearable.

"Brendon?" Ryan's voice was sharp, too high.

"It's hit a vein, I can't—" He squinted down at the wound over the tops of his glasses, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Blood was flowing steadily over his fingers. "Jon, can you—?"

Jon fumbled with the cloth. "Yeah, sorry," he mumbled, mopping at the blood and wishing he'd learned how to focus better, to block out the waves of feelings when he needed to most.

He wished it even more when Brendon dug his clamp in deeper and Spencer screamed, jerking hard against Jon and Ryan's hands. A white-hot surge of pain shot through Jon's body; he grit his teeth and tried not to pass out as Brendon yelled, "Hold him, goddamn it, I think I've almost got it!"

Between the three of them and Helia wrapping her tail around Spencer's ankles, they managed to keep Spencer steady long enough for Brendon to remove the bullet. He held it up triumphantly, staggering back from the table as blood dripped down his arm. Spencer gasped just before his body sagged against the table.

Ryan went very still. "Is he...?"

"He'll be fine, he's just unconscious," Brendon replied breathlessly. He rinsed the bullet off in the basin of water beside the table, then handed it to Jon. "Look familiar at all?" he asked quietly.

Jon's hands were shaking; he felt drained, worn to the bone. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into his bed and sleep forever. But he still held the bullet in his palm and watched the lamplight glint off the Government-issued serial numbers etched into the side.

"He's lucky to be alive," Jon breathed before dropping the bullet onto the table beside Spencer's shoulder.

Ryan sighed, heavy enough that the tension physically left his shoulders. All the worry and fear bled out of him, and Jon felt the weight lift off himself as well.

"Thank you both," Ryan whispered, suddenly looking just as exhausted as Jon felt.

"He should take it easy for the next day or two," Brendon said as he cleaned the wound and wrapped it with clean bandages. "I don't know what your plans were, but you both should stay put for now."

Jon was too tired to argue, but Helia said, _I think they'll be fine. The outside is quiet, and we can't turn them away like this, you know that._

_As long as they let me sleep_, Jon replied before saying out loud, "Fine, you can stay." He handed a couple of Helia's wool blankets to Ryan, adding, "But as soon as he's well enough to walk, I want you both gone."

Ryan nodded, his gaze flicking between Jon and Helia. "Yeah, of course, I understand." He took one of the blankets and threw it over Spencer, tucking the ends in gently around his body. Without another word, he wrapped the other blanket around himself and curled up on the floor by the fire, as if he were completely accustomed to sleeping wherever there was a spot for him.

Jon let himself glance back at the table. Spencer was still very pale, but his lips weren't quite as gray, and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. His scruffy beard was damp with sweat; he appeared older than Ryan, but there was a roundness in his cheeks that suggested he was younger than he looked. For the first time, Jon wondered how the two of them managed to end up in Audrey.

"Jon." Brendon's whisper pulled Jon out of his thoughts. "I think I'm done here."

He rubbed both hands over his face and sighed. "You did an amazing job," Jon replied softly. He laid a hand on Brendon's shoulder, and Brendon smiled crookedly.

"I can officially say I saved a human life. My repertoire is expanding." Brendon laughed to himself, ducking his head a little as he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

For Jon, close contact with others was something he'd learned to avoid, but with Brendon it came naturally, like it was something they were meant to do. It didn't hurt that Brendon's relief was washing over Jon in warm, comforting waves, helping to ease the gradually fading pain in his head. Jon wrapped his arms around Brendon, holding him close as he whispered against Brendon's temple, "Thank you."

He felt something else well up inside Brendon, something softer than relief. It swirled around inside Jon's chest, making him feel almost...safe. "You're welcome," Brendon mumbled into Jon's shoulder, his hands clutching at Jon's back.

Helia made a snuffling sound behind them, and when Jon finally let go of Brendon, he saw that she'd draped another blanket over Ryan. He raised an eyebrow at her.

_He was shivering_, Helia replied simply, tucking her face back into her wing.

Brendon smiled. "I guess I'll head back. You've got enough going on in here for now, I think."

Jon nodded, but as Brendon opened the front door, he said, "Brendon, about that gun you mentioned."

Brendon's eyes widened slightly. "Yeah?"

"Don't be afraid to use it." He knew he didn't need to elaborate anymore than that.

"All right." The smile faded, and Brendon's eyes were serious once more. "I'll be back in the morning to check on your patient. Get some sleep."

~

Jon rarely dreamed; years back, Frank had trained him to keep his mind clear during sleep, so that he could wake at a moment's notice clear-headed and focused. It had also helped to keep the nightmares at bay, the constant replay of his parents' deaths and all the terrible things that had followed. At fourteen, it had been hard to sleep for more than three hours at a time without waking up in a cold sweat, curled tightly against Helia's chest.

Jon didn't dream anymore, but that night, after Brendon left and the cabin became filled with the soft sounds of Ryan and Spencer sleeping nearby, Jon had a nightmare.

He was sixteen again, back in the safehouse with Frank and Gerard, watching Frank play a game with his dragon, Xira, while Gerard sat cross-legged against the far wall with a sketchbook in his lap. Gerard was always sketching Frank and Xira, and Frank would complain that Xira made him look too tiny.

"You _are_ tiny, fool," Gerard would answer blithely without looking up, and sometimes he'd make Xira laugh (Xira was huge for a dragon, standing almost fifteen feet tall from nose to ground. Her black wings were massive and stark against her bright red body). Frank would throw back an insult about Gerard's mother, and Gerard would sigh and hold up his middle finger. Eventually Frank would tackle him to the ground in a giant hug, and when they'd start to kiss, Jon would flush and look away, ignoring the strange little tug of envy in his heart.

Only now they were in the safehouse, and everyone was smiling, happy, content—until a giant explosion blew out the windows and everything became engulfed in flames. Frank yelled at Jon to get Helia and run—Jon felt his fear and panic like a punch to the gut, making his breath catch in his throat. But the fear wasn't just from Frank, it was everywhere, a swirl of chaotic emotions pulling at Jon like a thousand frantic hands. The smoke was too thick, Jon could barely make out the golden blur of his dragon. He called for Frank, and Gerard, too, but his voice stuck in his throat, choking him, and he couldn't hear anything but the screaming in his head, the pounding, horrible rush of terror flooding through every inch of his body.

Jon knew, without a doubt, that he was going to die. He screamed again, blindly pawing the air, desperate to wrap his hands around Helia, but there was nothing, only smoke and fire and _pain_—

_Jon_.

He gasped and sat up in bed, drenched in sweat, looking frantically around him. There was no fire, only the small one slowly burning itself out in the hearth. He was back in the cabin in Audrey, and his dragon was standing over his bed, her eyes full of worry.

_You were having a nightmare_, she said simply.

_Yeah._ Jon dug the heel of his hand into his eyes and tried to will away the residual feeling of dread. He told himself it wasn't the same anymore; he was older, wiser, and knew how to protect Helia and himself. But it didn't do much to calm his racing heart.

Then he heard soft whimpering coming from where Spencer lay on the table. By the light of the fire, Jon could make out the way he winced, his good arm twitching at his side.

_Ryan will take care of it_, Jon thought, but Ryan didn't stir from his spot curled up in front of the fire.

Helia nudged at his shoulder. _Go give him some water, or maybe some more of those painkillers Brendon gave him._

Jon sighed as he ran a hand through his sweaty hair and got up. Spencer made another quiet, choked noise, but Jon didn't touch him on his way to the sink. He filled a cup with water, then fumbled around in the dim light for the bottle of pills Brendon had left behind, taking a deep breath as he set the cup on the table beside Spencer's shoulder.

He splayed his fingers gently over the skin not covered by bandages. "Spencer, hey."

Spencer exhaled a short breath and very slowly, his eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he looked completely lost. "What...am I—?" His voice was rough, barely more than whisper.

"You're safe, don't worry." Jon bit his lip and held up the cup. "You look like you could use another dose of meds."

He shifted to sit up, but immediately gasped in pain. "Yeah, I'd say you're right, uh..."

"Jon." There wasn't the normal hesitation to share his name, because he was waiting for the rush of pain to set in. Except the rush never came, but Jon was too tired to really think too hard on it.

But then he noticed Spencer's eyes for the first time—they were the same color as Helia's.

Jon swallowed and added softly, "I'll try not to hurt you," as he awkwardly slid a hand under Spencer's back and helped him be upright enough to sip the water.

His father had always told him that dragons never had blue eyes, that Helia was special in that regard. Jon had never met anyone, human or dragon, who shared the same color, and because of that he'd believed Helia's eyes were unique to her and her alone.

Jon was vaguely aware of Helia slinking back to her bed behind him as Spencer swallowed his pill. It was a little strange that she didn't seem to be analyzing Spencer, or making any comment on him whatsoever.

_I thought you said he wasn't a threat_, Jon said, glancing over his shoulder at her as she curled up on the pile of blankets.

_He's not. But there's something...different about him. Different, yet familiar._ She narrowed her eyes at Spencer thoughtfully, her claws tucked neatly underneath her, like a cat.

Jon didn't know what to make of that, but then Spencer winced and pushed the cup away, moaning a little as he laid back down. "Thanks," he gasped, his face turned into the pillow. "Is—is Ryan—"

"Yeah, Ryan's here. You're both safe." Again, Jon should've felt _something_ from Spencer—a prick of anxiety or worry, or at least a shadow of the pain he was in.

_That's what I mean_, Helia said softly. _He's different._

It didn't make much sense, but Jon figured he was too exhausted to properly read Spencer. Or maybe Spencer himself was too weak to really project his emotions. _It's nothing, he's worn out_, Jon said as he crawled back into bed and flipped his pillow over to the dry side.

_We'll see._


	2. Chapter 2

He woke to the smell of coffee.

Jon blinked a few times into his pillow, his head still fuzzy and sluggish from the lack of sleep. The cabin was warmer than it usually was in the morning, and he could hear voices murmuring quietly, the clink of mugs setting on the table.

He sat up slowly, scrubbing the back of his hand over his beard as he surveyed the room. Spencer was hunched over the table in a rickety old chair, wrapped in a blanket, his hair sticking up in all directions. Ryan stood over him, pouring coffee into a mug. He said something to Spencer, softly, and Spencer grinned a little as he took a sip.

_I set the coffee out for them._ Helia sounded a little sheepish, and when Jon looked up she was sitting by the foot of his bed, her tail lazily flicking back and forth.

Jon smiled crookedly. _I can see that. Let's hope Ryan's coffee is better than Brendon's._

Helia grinned back and replied, _Brendon should just stick to pumpkin bread._

Maybe Jon's quiet laugh was louder than he thought, because Ryan said, "Oh," in a contrite voice, and both he and Spencer stopped whispering. "Sorry, we didn't mean to wake you, I was just—"

"It's fine." Jon crawled out of bed and barely felt the cold floor boards against his bare feet. He waved his hand at the pot of coffee sitting on the table. "You should feel honored that my dragon gave you access to my coffee."

Ryan blushed slightly. "I think she caught me snooping in your pantry."

"It was my fault," Spencer cut in, and his voice was stronger, but still quite rough. "I just wanted something hot to drink, so Ryan was trying to scrounge up some tea." He bit his lower lip and laughed, glancing at Helia. "The next thing we knew, she was setting a tin of coffee grounds out for us."

Jon shook his head, taking his favorite mug out of the tiny cupboard above the stove. "Traitor," he said, glaring at Helia with an affectionate smirk. Then he held his mug out to Ryan. "D'you mind?" he asked awkwardly, because it wasn't every morning he had two strangers making coffee at his table.

"Sure, of course, yeah." Ryan poured him a cup before setting the pot back on the stove. Jon felt a small wave of uncomfortable uncertainty sweep through him, and it didn't surprise him much when Ryan added hesitantly, "You—you didn't have to help us last night. I know that. So...thank you."

Jon shrugged, staring down into his mug. "I didn't do anything, it was all Brendon."

"You trusted us," Spencer said softly.

"I don't let people die in the snow." He let himself meet Spencer's eyes again, and although they were rimmed with dark circles, the blue was still the same, still identical to Helia's. It was eerie and almost unsettling. He looked away quickly and said, "And it's obvious you two aren't Government."

"No, we're definitely not." Ryan walked over to the hearth and held his hands out over the fire. "If you don't mind me asking, what, um...what's your dragon's name?"

It had taken Jon nearly two weeks after meeting Brendon to tell him Helia's name. Brendon had never asked; Jon had accidentally mentioned her in passing, and Brendon had said, "Helia?," beaming brightly. Before that, Jon hadn't said her name out loud since he'd left Frank and Gerard.

But he felt Helia nudge against his thoughts and whisper, _It's okay_.

"Helia," Jon said. "Her name is Helia." He didn't look at either of them, just spun his coffee mug on the table and tried not feel as if he'd told the only secret he had.

_You've never officially told them your name, you know._ Helia climbed up on Jon's bed and curled into a tight ball, her tail and her back heels hanging off the edges of the mattress.

_They know enough,_ Jon replied, and yet again he caught the strange way Ryan flicked his gaze between the two of them, almost as if...no. Jon shook his head, taking another sip of coffee. "How's your shoulder?" he asked, nodding his head at Spencer.

"Feels like I've been shot," Spencer said, and hissed sharply when he tried to shrug his shoulder. Again, Jon expected at least a small rush of pain or discomfort, even a vague sense of determination, but there was nothing, only a twinge of guilt and sympathy that came from Ryan, who added, "His bandages probably need changing, but I wasn't about to—"

"Do I smell coffee?" Brendon burst through the door without knocking, eyes wide and incredulous. He had his medic bag slung over one shoulder, and his hands and nose were bright red from the early morning cold.

Jon smiled and tipped his mug in greeting. "It's all Ryan's doing."

Brendon rubbed his hands together and then promptly swiped Jon's mug. "For my troubles," he said before taking a long drink, winking at Jon, but there was a nervous energy about him, something that bordered on relief—he'd worried Spencer wouldn't make it through the night, Jon realized. His telepathy was shoddy at best, but occasionally Jon caught snippets of thoughts; with Brendon, he heard _alive_ and _still breathing, thank god_, and it all amounted to Jon not bothering to take his mug back.

"Let's take a look, shall we?" Brendon said, nodding his head at Spencer as he dumped his medic bag on Jon's bed. He playfully nudged Helia aside—"Out of the way, you giant house cat," he murmured with affection, making Helia snort—and took out of the bag what looked like a makeshift sling he'd made out of a linen tablecloth. Jon recognized the print; it was Brendon's _only_ tablecloth.

Spencer stood up slowly, inch by inch, and let the blanket slide off his shoulders. A red stain had bled through the gauze during the night, but it didn't look too serious; Brendon still clucked his tongue as he unwrapped Spencer's arm.

"Well, hey, at least I didn't have to put you down or anything last night," he said with a shaky laugh.

Ryan raised an eyebrow at Jon. "Is that a joke?"

"Brendon's a vet," Jon replied, narrowing his eyes at Spencer as Brendon tossed the bloody bandages aside and began applying ointment to his wound. Spencer groaned and bit his lip, his left hand clenching in and out of a fist, and now was the perfect moment for Jon to be flooded with a half dozen sharp pricks of pain, but there still was nothing. It was as if Spencer had gone _blank_.

"Something wrong?"

Jon blinked, and suddenly realized he was glaring too fiercely at Spencer, who was watching him over the top of Brendon's bent head with a cautious look in his eyes. A look Jon couldn't read at all, and that was more than a little disconcerting.

"No, it's nothing." Jon cleared his throat and got up from the table with the pretense of getting more coffee. His shoulder brushed against Ryan's, and for a second he heard _my fault_, soft and miserable-sounding. He glanced at Ryan, trying to focus and hear more, but Ryan pushed off the stove and began pacing the floor as Brendon fixed Spencer's shoulder with fresh bandages.

"You should keep pressure on it," Brendon said as he helped Spencer back into his shirt before fitting his arm with the sling. "Or you'll more than likely start bleeding out again. I wouldn't do any running for another day or so if I were you." He laughed, rubbing at his neck, a tick Jon recognized when Brendon felt like he'd said too much. "I mean, I don't know that you guys are actually _running_ or anything, I'm just saying—"

"He means you should stay where there's a doctor handy," Jon said. He wasn't agreeing with him, just stating a fact. Spencer was better off taking it easy until his shoulder healed more, but Jon wasn't about to have two members of the Resistance who were obviously being hunted by Government patrolmen staying in his cabin for more than one night. If Jon had been uneasy about staying in Aubrey before Ryan and Spencer had arrived, he was terrified now. The only one who really knew it was Helia, though, and Jon was very aware that she wasn't arguing about them staying.

Spencer sighed as he eased himself back down into his chair, shoving his hair out of his eyes with his good hand. "The sentiment is greatly appreciated, but we have to keep moving," he replied quietly, looking straight at Ryan.

"If they were close, we would've heard them by now," Ryan said, his mouth in a tight line. He knelt by Spencer's chair and added in much softer voice, "We can't afford to have something happen to you, Spence, it's better to just—"

"The more time that passes, the more strongly Pete will think we're dead," Spencer hissed.

Ryan shook his head. "We already sent word to Tom that we were headed back, that we'd found it, they _know_ we're all right—"

At the mention of _Tom_, Jon froze for a moment. It had been years since he'd thought of that name, and it was like catching flashes of an old dream. But he swallowed and shoved the memory aside; as with Frank, Jon had trained himself to stop wondering about Tom, or if he'd survived the first raids.

"It doesn't change the fact that the patrols are still out there, Ry, and they fucking know they shot one of us. It's just a matter of time before they track us down." Spencer tipped his chin up, defiantly holding Ryan's gaze, and a sort unspoken tug-of-war passed between them. Jon felt Ryan's frustration layered over his guilt; he would've understood it more had he not been so distracted by the empty void he felt from Spencer. That, coupled with the mention of Tom (if it was Jon's Tom at all), made Jon's head begin to throb behind his eyes.

"Hey." A hand slid over Jon's elbow, and when he looked up, Brendon was tugging at his sleeve. "You look terrible," he whispered. "Go lay down."

"I can't, there's a dragon in my bed," Jon replied blithely, attempting to smirk at Helia. But she shook her head at him.

_They know something_, she said. _I...I can't quite tell what, but it's something important._

_Did you get that from Spencer?_ Jon asked as Brendon pulled him toward the bed. _Because there's something wrong about him, and I don't like it._

_I know, but I don't think that's what's important right now. Ryan needs—_

_Ryan needs what, your sympathy? Look, if Spencer wants to go, let them go. We have to get out of here, anyway._

Helia climbed off the bed, leaving the sheets rumpled and Jon's pillow smelling of her natural coppery scent. _We could go with them_, she said softly when Jon dropped down onto the mattress.

"No." Jon didn't mean to say it out loud, but it slipped out before he could take it back. It made Brendon flinch, and Ryan and Spencer abruptly stopped their hushed arguing.

His dragon, however, didn't flinch one bit. She sniffed, pressing herself up tight against the wall beside the bed. _You don't even know what they're running from_, she replied.

"And I don't care, all right?" Jon cupped both hands over his face and took a deep breath. "Listen, you're both probably better off leaving tonight. The roads are quiet after dark, there shouldn't be any trouble for you once—"

"Jon." This time it was Brendon hissing at him. He sat down on the bed at Jon's hip. "You can't just turn them out right now, not with Spencer's shoulder in its current condition."

"No, he's right." Spencer scooted his chair out from the table, the sound loud and final as he got to his feet. He wobbled a bit, but then stood firm, ignoring whatever pain he was in. "We need to be moving on."

Instantly, Jon felt a burst of desperation shoot through him. It happened a split second before Ryan slammed his hand against the table and said, "Sit down, Spence. Right now."

The glare Spencer gave him was dark and fierce; Jon still didn't feel a thing. Slowly, he sat back down, his jaw twitching.

Ryan bit his lip, his shoulders rising and falling with each careful breath he took. He spread his hands out on the table, not looking Spencer in the eye. "If...if I tell you who we are and what we're doing, will you let us stay?"

"_Ryan_," Spencer whispered.

"He's a _Rider_, for fuck's sake!" Ryan cried, flailing a hand out at Jon. "Even if you weren't hurt, he'd still deserve to know. You know this, don't act like you don't."

"He's not the only person in here, for one thing."

"They _both saved your life_, Spence!"

Spencer shook his head and leaned closer to Ryan. "We didn't even know he was a vet until this morning," he murmured. "We don't know anything about them, not really. Not enough to—to—"

"You said so yourself, Jon trusted us. He deserves the same from us, and so do his friends."

A faint trickle of confusion and awkwardness spread through Jon. He glanced at Brendon, who was watching Ryan and Spencer with wide eyes as his shoulders began to curve inward a little; he was starting to feel out of place. Jon nudged his toes up against the small of Brendon's back, a simple gesture to let him know Jon was glad to have him there.

Spencer closed his eyes, looking as exhausted as Jon felt. "But they don't deserve to get caught up in this if they don't want to be," he replied softly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

Ryan shook his head. "Bullshit." He looked at Jon, and said in a voice full of shaky determination, "You were right in guessing that we're Resistance. We've been working with a larger group of fighters for the last four years, a group that's taken in refugees from all aspects of the last raids." He paused. "A few are Riders, even though they're aren't many of them," he added quietly.

Jon's heart beat a little faster, but he didn't say a word. Beside him, Helia laid her head on his pillow, her snout nuzzled against his cheek.

"Are—are the Riders...do they have—?" Brendon stuttered. Jon never spoke of what happened to Riders during the Revolution, but there wasn't a need to. Everyone knew; the Government had made sure of it.

"Some of them have dragons, but it's rare," Spencer replied, not looking up from the table.

Jon's stomach turned cold. He reached up to splay his hand over the top of Helia's head. The mere thought of being separated from her like that, of _losing_ her, was like imagining himself without a soul.

Ryan gave Brendon a long, considering look. "How much do you know about the first raids?" he asked.

Brendon flushed; the answer to that would've been very different before Jon came to Audrey. "I...know about the Alpha Minister's decree making Riders official enemies of the state because the Government thought the Dragonrider Guild was growing too powerful," he answered carefully. "And that all 'friends and harborers' were found guilty of treason." He made a face. "So yeah, I know I could be arrested for knowing about Jon and Helia, but I don't care. It's worth it." Brendon shrugged and smiled crookedly over his shoulder at Jon and Helia.

Jon forced himself to smile back, even though his chest felt far too tight. No matter how many times he heard the story repeated, it didn't make it any easier. He still vividly remembered being thirteen-years-old and standing in the doorway of the kitchen as his parents held frantic, hushed conversations, his father motioning with panicked hand gestures at the day's paper. 

Ryan smiled tentatively as he met Jon's eyes. "I have to admit, I hadn't met a Rider until I joined up with the Resistance movement three years ago."

"But if you're part of the movement, why are you so far south in Audrey?" Brendon asked. "I don't know if you've noticed, but this town isn't, ah, used to being in the thick of things. Government-types tend to stay away."

Spencer raised an eyebrow at Helia. "And yet she's still cooped up in here," he mumbled to himself, and Jon felt an irrational surge of resentment—no one ever dared tell him how to take care of his dragon. But he bit his lip and said nothing. Spencer didn't look at him.

"There's a base camp fifty miles from here," Ryan continued. "For all intents and purposes, it's considered one of the main Resistance headquarters. We were headed back there when Spencer—when the patrolmen ambushed us on the path." He ducked his head quickly, and once again, Jon caught a whisper of _all my fault_.

"Where were you coming back from?" Jon asked softly. He told himself he didn't actually want to know, but his heart was beating too quickly as more and more questions began filling his mind.

"For months now, there's been rumors of a Government compound made specifically for dragon reprogramming. But no one had ever been completely sure that the Government was even holding the dragons, let alone putting the time and resources into training them. Mostly, it was assumed that they'd been...eradicated, just like their Riders."

Helia made a rough snuffling sound, and Brendon reached back and curled his fingers over her neck. His hand shook slightly.

"Jesus, Jon," Brendon whispered. "No wonder you—"

"Just let him finish." Jon didn't want sympathy at the moment. Sympathy made him start missing things and people who were long gone.

"Anyway, a cluster of dragons were spotted flying low near the base of the Tellathium Mountain range—dragons without Riders. Scouts were sent out, and sure enough, the compound exists, just below the mountains, probably stretching for miles." Ryan drummed his fingers on the table, finally glancing up at Spencer. "The cluster of dragons was a test flight; they're training them to fly without Riders."

Brendon sat forward. "But there's a plan, right? You're going to break in and set them free?"

Ryan's shoulders sagged as he dragged a hand through his hair.

"We were the scouts," Spencer replied. He cupped his free hand over his shoulder. "Hence the shooting."

_They must use drugs, something to keep the dragons' minds blurred_, Helia said, her breath hot against Jon's cheek. _It would be impossible to control that many without—_

_Without a Rider to guide them_, Jon finished for her. He sighed as he laid a hand over his eyes; Brendon was starting to get anxious, and his nerves weren't helping the throbbing just behind Jon's temple. He reached out and skimmed his fingers over Brendon's elbow.

"This isn't anything new," Jon said to him. "There's been talk of a Government dragon training camp for years. They're not stupid—with enough dragon power, they'd have the most lethal army on the planet."

"You say that like it's inevitable." Spencer's voice was sharp.

"Well, it is. It's just another cog in the wheel." He shook his head against his pillow. "You're naive if you think this wasn't all part of the plan from the start."

Ryan's eyes grew wide. "But...don't you want to stop it? Nothing's set in stone, that's why the Resistance exists, why people aren't willing to simply—"

"Try being on your own at fourteen and hiding yourself and a dragon from a world that wants you dead, and then come back and tell me how idealistic you really are," Jon shot back. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, everything was lost in a sudden rush of anger and sadness and disbelief—not just from Brendon and Ryan, but from himself as well. He'd told himself that he'd moved on from those first few years of living on his own, that he'd shut it out, only now it was as if both Ryan and Spencer were demanding him to relive it all.

This time it was Brendon who touched Jon's shoulder, whispering carefully, "He didn't mean anything by it."

Jon swallowed, and eventually he turned over to face the wall, nose to nose with his dragon. "Sorry. Think we all had a rough night last night," he replied softly. His throat felt suspiciously tight.

There was a long, heavy pause filled with snatches of _leave him be_ and _why_ and _can't fix it_. The latter was from Brendon, and Jon wished so very much that Brendon was a Rider and could read his thoughts as well.

"I have oatmeal back at my house," he heard Brendon finally say. "I could make you both some?"

Jon closed his eyes and thought, _Thank you._

After another pause, Ryan said, "All right. Spence needs to eat, anyway."

"Sure, because you never think about food," came Spencer's reply, and Jon waited to feel the warm glow of affection, but nothing ever came. The bed shifted as Brendon got up, and Jon heard the shuffle of coats (there was a soft hiss, followed by Ryan's whispered, "You're okay to—?" and Spencer's grumbled reply of, "I'm fine, Ry.") and chairs scraping against the floor.

"We'll only be a little while," Brendon whispered to Jon's back.

When the door closed behind them, Helia sighed and nuzzled Jon's cheek.

Jon wrapped an arm around her neck, pulling her close.

~

Jon slept for two hours, and the cabin was quiet. He didn't dream, and he awoke slightly less blurry-eyed and disoriented than before. Helia was sprawled in front of the fire, her back legs tucked underneath the table; it was the only way for her to stretch out and be comfortable.

He laid in bed and stared up at the wood plank ceiling, letting Ryan's stories of dragon training camps and Resistance spying play over and over again in his head. He remembered refugees coming to Gerard's studio warehouse, Riders who were shaken and scarred, recounting how they'd watched their dragon being hauled away in chains. He remembered asking Frank why they didn't just kill them and be done with it, because everyone knew a dragon's true power—its flight—was useless without a Rider to guide them.

"Because the Government bastards think they're smarter than us," Frank had said quietly; he'd been so still, his hands folded in his lap as he watched Gerard show the latest raid victim where they could hole up for the night. Jon rarely saw Frank so motionless, he was always at least flicking a cigarette, or bouncing his knee, just _moving_. Seeing him otherwise made Jon's stomach turn cold.

He’d never asked Frank to elaborate. By the time the rumors of the training compounds started emerging, Frank had been long gone, and Jon had been on his own.

Jon sighed as he rubbed a hand over his face. It didn't matter, anyway. If the Resistance was crazy enough to try to break into a Government-run facility just as a new wave of raids were beginning, then that was their business. Jon wasn't having any part of it.

But then, in the distance, like a low rumble of thunder, Jon heard the drone of a engine. Helia heard it, too, and their eyes met across the room as everything inside Jon froze.

_It can't be_, he thought. _Not now._ He tumbled out of bed, not even bothering to pull on boots or grab his duster. Jon jerked the door of the cabin open, holding his breath.

He could see the familiar plumes of steam drifting above the town, as well as faint flashes of headlights, even though it was still mid-afternoon. The sound of a revving engine grew louder, and then Jon saw the unmistakable shape of a Government motorcade steamcar.

"Oh god," Jon breathed, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the door. There appeared to be only one, and it was slowly making its way down the main road through Audrey, the maroon-colored flag with the silver Government crest flying over the gleaming metal hood. Townspeople were gathering in the street in small clusters, watching the car with a mixture of perplexed curiosity and dread; they'd probably never seen a steamcar until now, since the Government stayed out of Audrey.

But Jon knew the sight well. It meant Audrey was no longer immune to raids.

He slammed the door shut, pressing his forehead against the wood. "Focus, focus," he whispered, trying to breathe, trying not to let the fear overtake him.

_It's a motorcade, isn't it?_ Helia asked. It was the first time in months Jon had heard her be afraid.

Jon nodded. _There's only one, though. Maybe they're scouting the town, or—_

_Or they're looking for Ryan and Spencer._

It was the one explanation Jon didn't want to consider; he didn't want to think about the two of them running from danger, or _bringing_ danger to Audrey. He wasn't used to worrying about anyone outside of himself and his dragon, and he hated to start now.

_You don't have a choice_, Helia said sharply as she glared at him. _We've all got to get out of here._

He knew Brendon was keeping the other two occupied at his house while Jon collected himself, but surely Brendon had to have heard the motorcade by now. Jon had told Brendon enough stories about them; he'd be able to recognize the sound.

"I'll go get them," Jon finally said, heart pounding heavily as he shrugged into his leather duster, flipping the collar up. If he was careful and moved quickly, he could get to Brendon's within two minutes, and then it was only a matter of getting the rest of them to follow him out the back—

The front door burst open.

"Jon, god, have you heard? Have you _seen?!_" Brendon gasped, stumbling through the doorway as he thrust a piece of paper at Jon. A second later Ryan followed, his arm wrapped tight around Spencer's shoulders to help keep him upright. All three of them were panting, and Spencer was beginning to look pale again. He dropped into the closest chair, grimacing in pain.

"Apparently we misjudged the situation," Ryan said, flat and emotionless, but Jon could already feel his fear and frustration. He looked down at the paper clutched in his hand—it was a wanted flyer, with sketches of Ryan and Spencer's faces printed under _Resistance Traitors_ in large, bold letters.

"A man came by the house," Brendon said as he paced around the table, jerking his hands through his hair and nervously pushing at his glasses. "He, he asked me if I'd seen anyone strange to the area in the past few days. When I said I hadn't, he gave me that and reminded me that harboring traitors to the Government is a crime."

Helia carefully slid up behind Brendon and pressed her nose against his back to get him to stop pacing. He abruptly stopped and huffed out an anxious laugh, stroking a hand down her neck.

"We can't stay here," Spencer said. He was hunched in on himself, his good hand curled over his shoulder. His voice was weaker, but still full of the conviction from earlier. "They're going to find us, it's only a matter of time." He looked up at Jon through the mess of hair hanging in his eyes and added, "And they'll find you, too."

Jon dropped the wanted flyer, his hand shaking as it fluttered to the floor. It wasn't supposed to be like this; he and Helia were going to leave in the middle of night, silent and unnoticed. If it were quiet enough, he might have even ridden her out. But now there were Government patrolmen on their heels, and it dawned on Jon that the time for simple getaways had passed.

"How...how far are you from the base camp?" Jon asked, leaning back against the door.

"The last time I checked, we're about thirty miles north of there," Ryan said. He dug through one of the leather knapsacks they'd brought with them and produced a battered scroll map. He spread it out on the table, and Jon saw that it had several red markings on it, along with arrows and scribbled notes. One such arrowed pointed directly past Audrey.

"You hadn't planned on stopping, had you?" Jon tapped his finger against the map.

Ryan shook his head. "We were supposed to be well past here by now. We tried to avoid inns and sleep in barns and abandoned buildings if possible." He pointed to the town of Draden, which was two miles north of Audrey. "That's where they shot Spencer."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Brendon crouch beside Spencer's chair. "How are you doing?" he asked softly. "We can figure something out if you think it'll be too much to—"

"No, I'm okay, just." Spencer smiled weakly. "Can I get some more of those pain pills for the road?"

Brendon sighed. "I really shouldn't, since they're technically for cats, and God only knows if you'll drop dead from a heart attack—"

"I'd rather die of a heart attack than feel like my arm is being burned off." Spencer attempted a laugh, but it was more a huff and a cringe. Jon tried his best to ignore it; concentrating on Spencer meant acknowledging the unsettling void he continued to feel from him.

"That isn't something a doctor likes to hear. You're lucky I rarely leave the house without this thing." Brendon opened his medic bag and shook out two pills for Spencer. "These should last you until this evening, and by then I'll probably just give you a sleeping aid to knock you out for the night."

Jon went very still. "Brendon, you're not actually coming with us, are you?" He wanted to flinch at little at "us"—there was no "us," it was only Jon helping Ryan and Spencer get on the right path until he and Helia could disappear.

Brendon stood up, his eyes wide and serious. And Jon felt, too, the strong rush of determination mingled with apprehension and fear. "Of course I am," he replied. "Spencer needs a doctor, and you—" He ducked his head slightly, pushing at the bridge of his wire-rimmed glasses. "I can't just let you and Helia leave like this," he whispered.

"And I can't let you risk your life, Bren, it's ridiculous, you don't even—"

"I know enough, Jon, and if anything, I'm sure the Resistance needs a vet, right?" He tipped his chin up at Ryan, who seemed a bit lost.

"I...yes, of course we do, but I couldn't ask you to—"

"There, you see?" Brendon swept his hand out at Ryan, his mouth set in a tight line.

Jon sighed. He kept waiting for Helia to insist on talking Brendon out of coming, but she was quiet, her blue eyes bright and watchful. "Your family is here, Bren."

"My family's always known I was never meant to stay in Audrey. Why do you think I moved into my own house across town? Started my own practice when I could have worked in my father's shop? I've always wanted to _do_ something with my life, not just wait for something to happen." For a moment, there was the familiar, vague tug of something more than affection, something warm and hopeful that Jon hadn't felt from Brendon since the night Jon had first told him he was leaving Audrey. He also caught a flash of _please_, and that more than anything made Jon's resolve crumble.

"All right," Jon finally said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "We'll head toward the river and follow it south. The roads taper off, which means they can't take the cars near there." He went to the trunk at the foot of his bed and took the key to the padlock out of its hiding place under one of the floor boards. The sound of the lock popping open echoed through the cabin, and Jon was too aware of three pairs of eyes watching him closely as he meticulously took out Helia's saddle and harness, along with his gloves and shoulder holster for his rifle. He laid everything on the floor at his feet without looking up.

_You're going to protect them_, Helia said, and it wasn't a question.

_No, I'm not. But I can't leave any of this behind._

_You're a terrible liar, Jonathan Jacob, especially to yourself._ She circled the room slowly and finally slipped her head in between Brendon and Spencer, nuzzling Spencer's cheek gently. _He's running a fever again, I think. He'll have to—_

_No, he won't._ Jon felt irrational anger again at the thought of Spencer riding his dragon. This man whom neither Jon nor Helia could read wasn't about to set foot on—

_Stop being so damn selfish and scared! He's got a bullet wound, Jon, he's not going to harm anyone, let alone me._ She flicked her tail against Jon's ankle, hard.

Jon winced as Spencer leaned away from Helia's touch and asked slowly, "What's she doing?"

"She..." He grit his teeth and began loading his gear into a knapsack. "She thinks you should ride her, to keep your strength up."

Spencer's eyes widened, and he looked back at Helia with a humbled expression. Jon expected him to be anxious, or at least very tentative at the notion of riding a dragon for the first time, but Spencer nodded and reached his good hand up to skim his fingers gently over her nose.

"Thank you," he whispered, as if he understood the implications involved in having a dragon offer to let someone other than a Rider mount them.

"We don't have time for politeness," Jon mumbled, nudging at Helia's hindquarters. _You going to do this?_ he asked tersely as he slid the leather saddle into place. _I'm not using the reins._

_You don't need to, I'll be fine._ She pressed her nose to Spencer's cheek again and motioned for him to climb on.

Ryan and Brendon were watching them silently; Brendon had a look of envy and awe, while Ryan chewed the corner of his thumb as he paced the length of the tiny kitchen.

"He's—it's okay for him to, to do that?" he asked when Spencer slowly got up from his chair. "I mean, I never thought—there's got to be taboos involved, some code he's violating—"

"I'll be okay, Ryan," Spencer cut in, hissing sharply as he swung his leg over Helia's back and jostled his arm accidentally. He eased into the saddle and took a deep breath that made his shoulders expand and contract, his good hand tentatively splayed over the base of Helia's neck. Jon wished he knew what the hell Spencer was feeling; that touch was a sign of respect and appreciation, something only Riders knew.

Jon shook off the unease and took Brendon aside. "Are you sure about this, Bren?" he said. "You'll more than likely never come back to Audrey." He thought of all the family pictures lining Brendon's hallway, of Brendon's patients and their owners who would miss him.

Brendon squeezed Jon's shoulder, nodding firmly, but the ripple of anxious uncertainty made Jon's stomach clench. "I'm coming with you," he whispered. "There's no other choice."

_Of course there is, you fool_, Jon thought, but his throat was too tight to form the words. He didn't pause to think as he slid his arms around Brendon; the warm rush of comfort and affection was everything Jon needed in that moment.

"Are you ready?" Jon asked Ryan over Brendon's shoulder, his words slightly muffled by Brendon's hair.

Ryan's eyes flicked to Spencer astride Helia, wrapped in his dirty wool coat and already slumping a little in pain. He checked both their guns for ammunition before handing one to Spencer, who shoved it in the pocket of his coat.

"Ready as we'll ever be," Ryan finally replied, tugging at his worn fingerless gloves on and hefting both his and Spencer's packs onto his back, his gun tucked into his belt. There was resignation and guilt coming from him in waves.

Jon shouldered his own pack. They were leaving with very little food, but there simply wasn't time to prepare; he didn't want to hear the sounds of the steamcar drawing closer to his cabin.

"Go see if the coast's clear," he said to Brendon. "The woods are fifty paces west. If we run, we can make it to the trees in a few minutes." Jon rested the nose of his rifle against his shoulder. "Ryan, you and Spencer keep to the front with Helia. Brendon and I will bring up the rear. Don't stop for anything, got it?" He didn't have to ask Helia; she was an old hand at running.

Brendon's eyes were impossibly large behind his glasses, but his mouth was set in a determined line. "Right, yes. Got it." He pulled his coat tighter around himself and fidgeted with his scarf before he added softly, "I've still got my pistol, Jon. It's in my bag."

Jon didn't blink. "Is it loaded?"

"I, yes. I put bullets in it last night."

At least there was a gun in the hands of someone Jon knew he could trust. "Good, just don't shoot anyone unless I tell you to."

Brendon shook his head and laughed a little too hysterically. "Oh god, of course not." He reached for the door handle, his hand shaking slightly. "Now?"

Jon finally let himself meet Helia's eyes. _I hope I'm not going to kill us all_, he said.

Helia rose to her full height, which she rarely did inside; she wasn't a tall dragon, but she was long and lean, her body nearly spanning the entire length of the cabin. Spencer automatically leaned forward, his hands still braced at her neck. _You won't. I won't let you_, she said simply.

Jon's heart was in his throat as he nodded at Brendon. "All right. Now."

~

They made it to the woods undetected, with Helia flying low, her wings expanded just enough to let her hover a few feet over the ground. Jon could only see Spencer's back, but the hunch of his shoulders was telling enough; traveling was going to be rough for him.

"Is he going make it?" Jon asked Brendon softly, trying to keep his tone light. They kept several paces behind Ryan and Spencer, and while Jon wanted to tell Brendon he didn't have to stay at the back with him, he was grateful for his company.

Brendon sighed. "He should be okay—the bullet didn't go as deep as it could have, and Spencer's young." He pushed at his glasses and gave Jon a quick, nervous glance. "But I don't have to tell you that being on the run doesn't help his situation."

Jon knew it, but he didn't know what else to do. He also didn't like the unfamiliar surge of worry over someone he'd barely known a day.

For once, Jon was glad for the early onset of darkness, even if it brought a sharper cold with it. He kept them moving through the trees, the river glittering in the moonlight to their right. The air was quiet enough that any hints of an engine would be heard immediately.

Just as his stomach began growling in earnest, Helia looked over her shoulder at Jon and said, _He's burning up, Jon. We should stop for the night, I think we're safe for now._ She wasn't flying anymore, but her loping gait was just as smooth along the uneven forest floor; Spencer was draped across her back, as if he'd fallen asleep.

Jon came up behind Ryan and carefully touched his arm. "I think there's a old bear cave up ahead," he said. "We'll stop there and rest up, all right?"

Ryan hadn't spoken since they'd left the cabin, had only kept close to Helia and never looked back. He felt tense and anxious, and he rubbed at his temple as he replied, "Yeah, Spence passed out a little while ago." He laughed wearily, adding, "His neck is going to be so fucking sore when he comes to," motioning to the awkward angle Spencer had his cheek rested on his good arm at the base of Helia's neck.

"Helia's not the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but she does all right," Jon replied, attempting a weak smile.

The cave was smaller than Jon remembered; he'd discovered it with Helia several months back, when they had last taken a midnight ride through the woods and had had to wait out a sudden thunderstorm. The remains of the fire Jon had built were still intact, the blackened stones still arranged in a neat circle; Jon had just enough matches in his pack to light the dried leaves and fan them into a decent fire. Helia curved her body carefully along the smooth back wall of the cave, lowering herself to the ground and letting Ryan and Brendon lift Spencer off her back. He wasn't quite conscious yet, and Jon could hear Ryan whisper softly to him, "Spence, we're stopping for the night. You should eat something."

Spencer hummed something unintelligible, and Brendon said, "Drugs, Spencer. At least take your drugs?" He laughed, and Jon recognized the gentle tone in his voice—it was the same one Brendon used on his more high-strung patients. Granted, Spencer wasn't an anxious Greyhound with a toothache, but Jon knew Brendon was trying his best.

Helia folded her wings against her back and nudged Spencer to lean against her side. Jon looked over his shoulder just as Spencer's eyes fluttered open and Brendon handed him some pills and a canteen before checking Spencer's bandages. Ryan sat back on his heels, one hand resting on Spencer's knee, and suddenly all Jon could feel from him was overwhelming exhaustion and guilt.

Jon automatically thought, _It's not your fault_, but he knew it was probably a lie. He didn't know all the details of their scouting mission, or their friendship; and what's more, Jon knew that guilt was sometimes the best reason to keep going. So he didn't offer false reassurances, or tell Ryan that everything was going to be okay.

_If anything, you tried_, he thought with a sigh.

Ryan looked up at Jon abruptly. He blinked a few times, frowning, almost as if...

Jon shook his head. No, it wasn't possible. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing, I just..." Ryan scrubbed a hand over his face, looking like every inch of the bone-weary exhaustion Jon felt from him. "I shouldn't be this tired, I should stay up with Spence in case he—"

"You don't need to stay up," Brendon said as he tucked Spencer's arm back into its sling. Spencer's eyes were still open, but he looked on the verge of sleep again. "He's loaded up with pain meds, and he needs the rest, anyway. So do you."

"I'll watch him," Jon said. He got to his feet and took his rifle and pack over to Helia, setting them near her head. She always liked keeping an eye on Jon's belongings, like a guard dog.

Ryan's shoulders sagged, and Jon felt his rush of relief. "No, I can't ask you to lose more sleep again," he said, but Jon knew he was lying.

"I'm not sleeping tonight. Trust me." Not when this was the first time in ages he'd gone out into the open with his dragon.

Brendon laid his hand on Ryan's arm. "Listen to him," was all he said before shutting his medic bag and folding his knitted scarf up into a makeshift pillow. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and curled up close to Helia, who smiled fondly as she settled his pillow into place for him.

Jon wanted to feel put out that at least two people other than himself were sleeping against Helia, but for whatever reason he felt slightly more at ease to see Spencer slumped back against her shimmery gold body while Brendon was safely tucked under her front forepaws.

"It must be amazing, having someone like Helia at your side at all times," Ryan said quietly, breaking into Jon's thoughts. He'd moved closer to the fire, his long, thin legs folded underneath him as he held his hands out for warmth.

Jon took a deep breath. "It's not something I really think about. She's just..._there_. Like breathing air, almost." It made him feel awkward to talk about Helia with non-Riders most of the time, because no one, no matter how much they thought they knew about dragons, knew what it was like to be bonded to one.

"How long have you—I mean, since the two of you have been—"

"Running?" Jon smiled ruefully. "Off and on since I was fourteen." He didn't add in the part about the date coinciding with his parents' deaths; he knew Ryan remembered Jon's breakdown earlier that day.

Ryan tossed a twig into the fire and watched it pop and split apart. Jon stretched out on the ground and used his bedroll—one of Helia's moth-eaten wool blankets—for a pillow. He didn't expect Ryan to say anything more, but eventually Ryan whispered to the fire, "You should know that he—Spencer lost his parents, too, around the same time. I was there when it happened, and it..." Jon watched him swallow tightly, his profile in sharp relief in the firelight. "No one should have to go through that and then be left alone."

Jon sat up a little on his elbows. "Spencer's parents harbored Riders?"

"You could say that." Ryan's shoulders twitched in a half shrug. "My parents died when I was a boy. I grew up in a handful of orphanages before I met Spence in school; his family took me in like I was one of their own." There was something Ryan wasn't telling, Jon could feel it.

"Is that why you're Resistance now?" Jon asked softly, sitting all the way up and drawing his knees to his chest. He normally never asked so many questions of someone, but he couldn't help himself.

Ryan's hands were folded in his lap as he picked at his gloves absently. "After the raid on his home, it was up to Spence and me to take care of his twin sisters. So the four of us just sort of wandered from town to town doing enough odd jobs to put some money in our pockets. But eventually we found Pete and he—" Ryan paused, frowning to himself again, but Jon only felt pensiveness, not anger. "He took us in and basically told us everything that's wrong with the Government."

"Pete's one of the leaders?"

"For all intents and purposes, Pete Wentz _is_ the Resistance. His parents were Government up until he was a teenager, and it was after they resigned that all the...the Rider exiling began."

_Exiling_ was a very careful word. _Extermination_ or _genocide_ were more appropriate in Jon's mind.

"So he just sent you two out into the wild to track down dragon training camps?" Jon asked with a smirk. He was suddenly craving a cigarette, which hadn't happened since after he'd left Frank and Gerard, but tobacco was hard to come by. He considered asking Ryan if he smoked at all.

"Pete didn't send us, Spence and I volunteered." 

Jon glanced at Spencer curled against Helia, his skin slightly sweat-damp from his fever. The familiar pang of guilt Jon felt from Ryan was quick and subtle, but it made sense now. "He nearly died," Jon replied softly. "You volunteered to take him away from his sisters, break up their family?" His heart was suddenly beating too heavily, his jaw clenched too tightly. This was why he hated fighting back; no one ever really won.

Ryan narrowed his eyes at Jon, then shook his head. "It's not like that. If you only knew—there are plans in motion, Jon, things bigger than any of us. It's a series of dominoes standing on end, and all it takes is that one final push to make everything fall into place."

"No," Jon murmured, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. "You're still believing in heroes, and those just don't exist."

"How can you say that? You're a goddamned Rider; you were _born_ to be a hero. Riders protect and nurture, isn't that in your code?"

"The most I ever learned of the Guild Code was what another Rider told me in a safehouse outside of Howardstown when I was fifteen. And that Rider is probably dead now."

Behind him, Helia suddenly made a loud snuffling sound. _He's just being honest, Jon_, she said sternly.

_Thought you were asleep_, Jon replied as he grit his teeth. He didn't look back at her, but he knew she was glaring at him.

She snuffled again. _You're impossible sometimes_, she mumbled, and Jon could hear her shifting slightly, probably tucking her head underneath one of her wings.

"You should probably try and sleep," Jon said, ignoring the curiosity and sympathy he felt from Ryan. There was something else, too, something less like emotion and more like words: _you're not alone in this_. He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his beard.

Ryan slowly got to his feet. "Why did you let us in last night?" he asked softly. "If you don't trust anyone, why trust us?"

Jon had been asking himself that same question since they'd left Audrey. And as much as he tried, he couldn't come up with a decent answer. "Like I said, I don't let people die in the snow."

Ryan shook his head as he knelt on the ground beside Spencer, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders and curling up against Spencer's side. "You underestimate the good in people," he whispered before his eyes drifted shut.

_I've had a lot of practice_, Jon thought, staring silently into the fire until he was the last one left awake in the cave.

~

Dawn was just beginning to turn the darkness into a dull gray when Jon's eyes started to close. True to his word, he hadn't slept at all through the night, but the adrenaline from the day before had worn off, and fatigue was quickly setting in. He glanced at Ryan and Spencer curled into each other, and Brendon tucked into a tight ball with Helia's head resting on his hip; they were all still sound asleep.

Jon sighed, pulled the collar of his leather duster up around his ears, and let his eyes close. The air was quiet and calm; twenty more minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt anyone.

He was on the brink of unconsciousness when he heard the loud snap of twigs breaking under footsteps—footsteps that were headed straight for the mouth of the cave.

Jon sat up straight, his heart in his throat. Helia instantly felt his fear, lifting her head and asking anxiously, _What is it?_

_They found us_, Jon said as he scrambled to his feet and ran to grab his rifle. He shook Brendon's shoulder, and whispered frantically, "Bren, wake up, right now."

Brendon blinked blearily up at him, but it was Ryan who said, "They're here, aren't they?" He sounded wide awake, and his voice shook slightly.

Jon swallowed before he jerked his head toward the cave's entrance. "Footsteps," he said. "Headed this way. I don't—"

"No, wait." Brendon fumbled around for his medic bag, and after a moment of digging, held up his tiny pistol. "Let me go check. Maybe I can distract them while the rest of you sneak out—"

"What?" Jon grabbed his wrist and tried to wrestle the gun away. "You're not going out there, we don't even know how many there are, and you don't even—"

"I can do this, Jon." He pulled his wrist free and stood up, waving his hand at Spencer, who was awake and watching them with hazy confusion. "Just make sure you're careful with his arm, his meds will have worn off overnight." He shoved the pistol into the pocket of his trousers, taking a deep breath as he started for the mouth of the cave.

Ryan's eyes went very wide. "He's...just going to go _out there?_" he hissed at Jon.

_There's a hole in the back wall_, Helia cut in. _It's buried a little, but I think it's here somewhere..._ She nudged Spencer toward Ryan as she rose to her full height and began pushing rocks aside with her forepaws.

Jon could barely concentrate on anything but the sound of voices calling out to Brendon, loud and commanding. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that they were Government men. He saw Brendon round the corner of the cave, heard his surprised laugh in greeting, and nearly felt sick with dread when he felt Brendon's rush of pure fear.

"Jon, c'mon," Ryan said. "She's got us a way out." He was on his knees beside Helia, helping her dig out the opening in the cave wall. Even Spencer was doing his best to lift rocks away with his good hand, but he was gritting his teeth in pain.

Jon felt trapped, as if making a decision to either save Brendon or help them escape was a moot point; they were dead no matter what. For a moment, he felt an overwhelming crush of despair and hopelessness over leading them all to their deaths, for not even getting them as far as the east river bank.

"Just get over here and help, we're not dead yet," Ryan said, his whispered words sharp and cutting straight through Jon's thoughts—like he'd heard them himself.

_He's right_, Helia added. _I can see daylight, we're close._

Jon held his breath and counted down from five in his head, a technique Frank once taught him to help calm his mind and collect himself. It worked most of time, but now all Jon felt was Brendon's nerves and snatches of _oh god, more guns_, and _run, please_.

But he shook his head firmly as he got down on the ground beside Spencer. "You all right?" Jon asked him softly, taking the rocks out of Spencer's hands.

Spencer attempted a shrug. "I'd be better if Brendon wasn't risking his life for us," he whispered back.

_There!_ Helia suddenly exclaimed. _Jon, do you see it?_ She pushed the last of the rocks aside and pulled back, leaving an opening about four feet wide for them to crawl through.

"You'll never get through that," Jon said out loud in dismay, while Ryan said at the same time, "Spencer will never get through that."

"I'll manage, Ry," Spencer replied, and Helia lifted her chin and said, _I'll figure something out. It'll just be a tight fit._

Suddenly, they heard Brendon announce, his voice too high, "No, it's really just me out here. I was traveling through the area and decided to stop for the night and rest. The fire was mine, I guess I let it burn too long." He gave another slightly hysterical laugh, and Jon hated himself for dragging Brendon into everything.

"All right, just go, _go_," Jon hissed, shoving Ryan toward the hole. They had to crawl out on their bellies, which wasn't an easy task for Spencer, but he made it out behind Ryan, Jon close behind at his heels. Helia had to shove her way through, twisting her body until a few more rocks gave way and she stumbled out into the light, collapsing on the ground beside Jon.

"Brendon," Ryan gasped. "Is he—?"

"He'll find us," Jon said, looking over his shoulder at the back of the cave. _Please head south_, he thought desperately as he shouldered his pack. Then he swung his thoughts back to Helia. _Are you okay to let Spencer ride again?_

_He's way ahead of you_, Helia replied dryly, and when Jon glanced back, Spencer had already mounted her on his own, even though his arm was obviously causing him considerable pain.

But Jon didn't have time to think about any of that. "Let's just get to the river and out of sight," he said. "Brendon knows that's where we're headed."

Ryan's mouth was in a tight line, and he wouldn't move at first. "He's a goddamned idiot," he muttered under his breath. "Goddamned crazy idiot, he can't just—"

"He can and he did." Jon grabbed Ryan's arm and tugged him along. "We can't stay here, come on."

Ryan huffed something that sounded very much like _fuck_, but he followed after Jon, eventually running ahead to catch up with Spencer and Helia.

In the back of his mind, Jon kept waiting for the sound of gunshots.

~

They hid by the river until nightfall, hidden in the thick cover of the trees. Jon made a fire small enough to make very little smoke, but still able to give off some heat—and also give a flicker of light just in case Brendon needed to find them.

Spencer stayed close to the fire, wrapped in his and Ryan's coats. "You can't just give me your coat," Spencer had said, even as he shivered constantly. The temperature wasn't any colder than the night before, but he simply couldn't get warm, not since they'd left the cave. Jon could see the slight shine of sweat on Spencer's forehead.

"I'll manage, so stop being a stubborn ass," Ryan had mumbled in reply, throwing his coat over Spencer's shoulders. His emotions were a blur of anger and helplessness, and after a while Jon felt another headache coming on.

_I know he's still out there_. Helia circled around the fire and laid down behind Jon. _He's not dead, Jon, he can't be._

_He's smart, he's just being careful_, Jon replied, leaning back against her, his head fitted into the curve of her neck. For the hundredth time since that morning, he strained to feel something from Brendon, anything at all. But he could only read Ryan's odd mixture of fear and aggravation as he paced beside Spencer.

"He's so _stupid_." Ryan shoved a hand through his hair, his mouth twisted up into an angry sneer. "Never mind the fact that we need him for Spencer's sake, he simply throws himself out into the fray and thinks nothing of it. We'll never get anywhere if Brendon doesn't fucking _think_ before he acts."

"He was thinking," Spencer said without looking up. His voice was weak, yet firm. "If he hadn't done what he did, we'd probably—"

"It doesn't matter! If he's gone, we have no one to look after you."

"Since when have I been an invalid, Ryan?" Spencer's head jerked up, and his glare was fierce. "I've survived worse without my own personal doctor to cater to me."

"You've never been shot," Ryan said, returning Spencer's glare.

"I've also never—"

"Hey." Jon held up a hand, wincing as his head became one dull throb; for once he was glad he couldn't read Spencer. "Fighting over it isn't going to bring Brendon back. He'll make it when he makes it."

There was a quick flicker of worry in Ryan's eyes. "How can you be sure? Can you feel him?"

Jon shook his head.

"He's right," Spencer said, and attempted to reach out with his good arm and tug at Ryan's pant leg, but Ryan stepped out of his grasp. "We'll give him until the morning and then—"

"Why is everyone yelling?"

Before he could register the voice, Jon felt a rush of relief and exhaustion that was uniquely Brendon. Jon scrambled to his feet, and there Brendon was, pack and medic bag in hand, looking tired and worn but still smiling hesitantly.

"Fuck," Jon whispered as he tugged Brendon against his chest. "What took you so damn long?" he mumbled into Brendon's hair. He didn't miss the way Brendon sagged a little in his arms, or the way Helia pressed her nose up against the small of Brendon's back and nuzzled him gently.

"I—I didn't want them to follow me, so I just wandered in circles until I knew they'd left the forest," Brendon replied as he dropped his things on the ground. He clung to Jon tightly for a moment, until Ryan punched Brendon's shoulder.

"If you _ever_ do something like that again, I'll kill you myself!"

Behind them, Spencer got up unsteadily and sighed. "Ryan," he warned.

"No, Spence, it needs to be said." He pointed a finger in Brendon's face. "Spencer relies on you, and when you decide to—to simply go off and get yourself killed, you're putting his life at risk, too. It was a selfish fucking thing to do." His voice was furious, but Jon felt a strange undercurrent of worry and fear that was completely at odds with Ryan's tone.

Brendon took a step back, his eyes wide. "I didn't mean to—I was only trying to save you from—"

"That's not your place, damn it! I already have one near-death on my conscience, I don't need two!" Jon felt a small ripple of desperation before Ryan threw his hands up and stomped off into the darkness.

Spencer shook his head. "Just let him go," he said. "After everything that's happened, I was waiting for him to have a meltdown." He smiled tentatively at Brendon. "But I'm glad you're back in one piece, Doc."

Brendon bit his lip, laughing weakly. "I didn't lose your meds, if that's what you're getting at." He immediately crouched down by his medic bag and took out the small bottle of pills, along with a roll of bandages and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Spencer gave what sounded like a sigh of relief; Jon only let himself wince a little in frustration at not knowing for certain as he watched Brendon set to work on checking Spencer's wounds.

"I'm sorry," Jon heard Brendon whisper as he unraveled the old bandage. They were huddled close to the fire, and Brendon had his back to Jon.

"It's not as bad as it seems," Spencer replied, hissing sharply when Brendon swabbed the wound with alcohol. "Ryan doesn't always think before he speaks. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I didn't know what else to do. You all would've been caught." Jon hated the contriteness in Brendon's voice; he didn't even realize how brave he'd been.

"Tell us what happened," Jon said, settling against Helia once more. Every so often, he'd glance at the trees for a sign of Ryan returning.

Brendon took a deep breath, but he didn't reply until he'd finished tending to Spencer. "They showed me sketches of Ryan and Spencer's faces and asked if I'd seen them at all. I said I'd been traveling alone for days and hadn't seen much of anyone. Then they insisted on searching the cave, but by then you all had escaped. I told them the hole was there when I arrived."

Spencer shrugged both coats back around his shoulders. "And they believed you?"

"What can I say, I'm very persuasive. And I guess it didn't hurt that I'm a doctor." He spread his hands as he sat back on his heels.

"Did they say where they were headed next?" Jon asked. "Were they with the motorcade?"

"I didn't see any car, they were all on foot. I think I heard one of them mention something about heading back to headquarters, but that was all."

_That could be anywhere_, Helia said, and Jon felt the tension ripple through her body.

"Did they say anything else?"

Brendon gave him a helpless look. "No, not really. I tried my best, Jon, but they were more interested in making sure I wasn't a traitor than filling me in on their day-to-day schedule."

Jon sat up and reached out to lay a hand on Brendon's shoulder. "You did well, Bren, believe me. We owe you our lives."

Brendon smiled and ducked his head. "The safety's still on, by the way," he said, fumbling around in his pocket until he pulled the pistol out and tossed it on the ground by his medic bag.

Spencer laughed, and it was the first time Jon had heard him do so. It was a quick, bright sound that seemed to light up his whole face. For a moment, Jon felt lost; he wasn't used to hearing laughter and not feeling an instantaneous burst of happiness.

"You really are quite the talker," Spencer said with a smirk.

"I always could sweet talk my way out of anything as a boy." Brendon shrugged, grinning sheepishly.

"Better sweet talk than using firepower," Jon said. He picked up the gun and laid it inside Brendon's bag—out of sight, out of mind. He considered emptying it of bullets, but just because Brendon had made it back from one instance of interrogation didn't mean there wouldn't be another. "We should be on the move by dawn tomorrow, cover as much ground as possible. There's no way of knowing how close they are, and we need to be careful of being followed." It felt strange to be making plans with anyone but Helia.

Brendon nodded and opened his bottle of pills. "I don't think you have tell me twice to get some sleep tonight, Walker," he replied ruefully as he handed a couple to Spencer. "Might even take a few of these myself."

True to his word, Brendon was out within minutes of stretching out beside the fire, his feet bracketing the tip of Helia's tail. Jon tipped his head back against Helia's neck, waiting for Spencer to drift off. But Spencer stared into the fire until it seemed to take considerable effort to keep his eyes open, and only then did he rest his chin on his good arm folded over his knees. He shivered a little in his sleep, and without thinking, Jon started to get up and wrap his wool blanket around Spencer's shoulders.

He thought better of it, though, and tucked himself back against Helia.

_Stubborn man_, Helia muttered sleepily.

"Just being careful," he mumbled back.

~

Ryan slunk back into camp an hour later. He didn't look at Jon, or acknowledge Jon's raised eyebrow, but he did whisper, "I meant what I said," as he laid down beside Spencer with his back to Brendon.

But Jon instantly felt his jumbled confusion. _I don't blame you at all_, he thought.

He could have sworn he saw Ryan's shoulders shrug in response.


	3. Chapter 3

Dawn brought gray clouds and a constant rain that wasn't heavy enough to soak them through, but was steady enough to make for miserably slow travel. It didn't help things that Brendon was skittish around Ryan, who quietly kept to himself, barely speaking in single word sentences to Spencer. Jon knew Brendon wanted to apologize again, could feel the nervous energy swirling around him, but Brendon didn't say a word. He hung back and watched Ryan with anxious eyes instead.

Jon would have told Brendon to get it over had he not looked up and spotted Helia limping slightly on her left foreleg as they made their way through the trees toward the main road.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath as he ran ahead to catch up with them. Spencer was still riding her, and Jon noticed he had his leg bent higher over Helia's left flank, almost as if he were trying to ease his weight on her.

_You're limping_, Jon said, frowning as he splayed his hand over her hip.

_I'm all right_, she replied. _It's just the rain._ She sounded tired, and they'd only been walking for a couple of hours.

"Okay, stop." Jon ran around in front of them and held both hands up. "She's hurt, and I need Brendon to take a look—"

"It's her tractle ligament," Spencer said, shoving his rain-soaked hair out of his eyes. His coat was dark from rain, and his gloves dripped against Helia's scales where he held on to her neck. "It's best if she just keeps walking and lets it stretch out."

Had Jon been rested and not staring at Spencer through a film of hazy, cold rain, he might have calmly asked how it was that Spencer seemed to know so damn much about his dragon, or dragons at all. As it was, Jon cracked a little and blurted out, "And how the _hell_ do you even know that? You just ride my fucking dragon for a couple of days and suddenly you know everything there is to know about her?"

_Jon_, Helia started, but Jon shot back, _Not now._

Spencer flinched slightly, but his tone was even as he answered, "I know how dragons work, Jon." He ducked his head, his beard dripping onto his coat.

"Yeah? Next you'll tell me you're secretly a Rider, too?" Jon hated that his heart was pounding so fiercely.

"No, I'm not a Rider." Spencer pulled his bad arm closer to his body. "My parents were breeders," he said softly.

Jon's mouth fell open a little, his eyes flaring. He hadn't met anyone remotely associated with breeders since he'd been on his own; as far as he knew, they'd all been wiped out during the Revolution. They were considered traitors to the Government just as much as Riders, perhaps even more so—without breeders, Riders wouldn't have dragons. Suddenly, Ryan's story about Spencer losing his parents at a young age made perfect sense.

"I...I didn't know," Jon finally said, feeling his cheeks flush.

"I know you didn't. But I never could figure how to tell you without..." Spencer gestured to Jon with his good hand. "You know, making you feel like I was telling you how to care for your dragon." He smiled weakly, since it was obvious that was exactly how Jon had felt.

_That's why he's always felt different to me_, Helia said, shaking the rain off her wings. _He's got breeder talent in his blood._

Jon rubbed at his neck. "Is that why you're part of the Resistance?" he asked. "Because you know how to take care of all those dragons who lost their Riders?" He knew with fairly strong certainty that others like Spencer were few and far between.

Much like Riders.

Spencer nodded. "My parents continued breeding even after the Government ban because they believed in supporting Riders, and that the Government was wrong. So after they were—when the first raids were over, I decided to do what I could to continue their work." He looked down as he ran a hand over the ridge of scales along Helia's neck. "My sisters were too young to have really learned much as far as breeding goes, but they know a little. It helps."

"Everything okay?" Brendon finally caught up with them, his breath coming in white puffs in the cold air, glasses speckled with rain drops. Ryan brought up the rear, and he narrowed his eyes curiously at Jon and Spencer.

"Yeah, we're fine," Jon said. "Helia's got a cramp, but Spencer says she's fine."

Brendon blinked, and Jon felt a quick flare of hurt before he laughed and replied, "Oh, good." Since Jon had known him, Brendon had been the one to see to Helia's injuries or sickness. It was the reason they'd become friends in the first place, and Jon could understand why it seemed odd that he was suddenly relying on someone else's advice. Jon considered telling Brendon about Spencer's parents, but he knew it wasn't his place.

"Are you still okay to ride?" It was the first full sentence Jon had heard Ryan say since the day before.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "She's just got a strained ligament, the weight will do her good." Then he smiled tentatively at Jon. "I mean, as long as you're all right with me riding."

Jon cupped his palm over Helia's muzzle. _I am if you are._

_I already told you I was, and Spencer is very careful with me._ She had affection in her voice that was normally reserved for Brendon.

Jon nodded at Spencer. "You're fine. We've got to keep moving, c'mon." He shifted the weight of his pack and pulled the collar of his duster closer against his neck, even though every inch of his skin felt cold and wet.

But then Spencer smiled at him, a full, genuine smile, before he whispered something to Helia and nudged her along, his good hand still splayed gently against her neck.

Jon didn't take his eyes off them for several miles, an unfamiliar warmth settling deep within his chest.

~

It was almost dusk when Jon heard Brendon make a loud whoop of surprise from a few yards back and say, "Holy _shit_, Ryan!"

"Keep your voice down, god."

"No, I swear, I was thinking about pistachios, and you just made a face and said something about how all nuts are vile. And then you rolled your eyes when I thought about pistachio ice cream!"

Jon looked over his shoulder at them. Brendon was practically skipping beside Ryan, beaming as if he'd discovered buried treasure, while Ryan frowned at the ground with his mouth twisted to one side.

"We can't both be thinking about nuts at the same time?" Ryan mumbled.

"Sure, but it's different when you _read my thoughts_!" Brendon met Jon's eyes and pointed at Ryan. "Jon, I think he's psychic! Have you noticed?"

Jon laughed and replied, "Was he reading Helia's thoughts, too?" But he was remembered clearly the handful of times over the last few days where it seemed like Ryan _was_ reading his mind, and his laughter was lighter than he felt.

Brendon came to a stop, his expression serious. "I...hadn't thought of that." He cocked his head at Ryan as he bit his lip. "I mean, you'd know, wouldn't you?"

"I'm not a Rider," Ryan said, making a show of rolling his eyes and marching ahead of Brendon. "Spence, tell him I'm not a goddamn Rider."

"He's not a Rider, Brendon," Spencer called back, sounding tired and worn. He and Helia were several yards ahead, and Jon could tell Spencer's energy was draining by the gradual slump on his shoulders.

"We should stop soon," Jon said, and he felt Helia breathe a sigh of relief; her leg hadn't really stopped bothering her all day, but she'd never complained.

Brendon ran to catch up with Jon. "You—you don't really think Ryan might be a Rider, do you?" he whispered. "I mean, this isn't the first time I've caught him...you know, acting like he knows what I'm thinking. I thought only Riders were telepathic."

Jon smiled crookedly and nudged Brendon's elbow. "Come on, Bren. He's just intuitive, that's all."

"But what if—"

"Don't worry about it. He's obviously not in any hurry to be one, anyway, so leave him be." But he kept playing Brendon's words over in his head: _I mean, you'd know, wouldn't you?_ He glanced up just as Ryan passed them by, and Jon wondered just how likely it would be for someone to simply live out their lives and never realize who they truly are.

_There's an abandoned barn up ahead_, Helia called to him. _I don't see any lights around. We should be safe._

_Good timing_, Jon replied, and tried to put all thoughts of Ryan's supposed telepathy out of his mind.

~

The barn was old, but it was warm inside. After Spencer dismounted, Helia promptly collapsed into a pile of musty hay as if falling into a feather bed; she sighed happily as she rolled onto her side, yawning loudly.

_Perfect_, she said. Jon shook his head at her, laughing; but he knew she deserved the rest.

Brendon was quieter than usual. He was watching Ryan with a mixture of curiosity and something that felt very much like envy to Jon. It made him wish Ryan were better at hiding whatever talent he had, and that Brendon wasn't so obsessed with dragons and the ability to communicate with them.

There was enough hay to go around for all of them have a decent bed for the night, or at least something better than cold, wet ground. Jon spread his blanket out and used his duster for cover; he planned to actually sleep tonight for the first time since they'd left Audrey. But plans or not, Jon was still aware of only two sets of steady breathing half an hour later, and he couldn't relax until he knew everyone was asleep. He rolled over and saw Spencer sitting up with his good arm hugging his knees to his chest.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Jon asked over the soft snuffling of Ryan and Brendon's snores.

"Pills aren't working," Spencer replied. In the dim moonlight peaking through the cracks in the barn walls, Jon saw him wince and grit his teeth.

After a pause, Jon said, "Want me to wake up Brendon?"

"No. It won't do any good anyway."

As tired as he was, Jon found himself still unconsciously straining to feel even a hint of pain from Spencer, or exhaustion, _anything_ that didn't leave Jon feeling so damned disconnected from him.

"Why do you always do that?" Spencer asked.

Jon frowned and turned onto his back again, staring up at the rickety eaves full of cobwebs. "Do what?"

"You always look at me like you've seen a ghost—a ghost that frustrates the hell out of you." And this time, Jon heard that same frustration echoed in Spencer's voice.

He dug his thumb into his eye until he saw stars. "It's just...I can't understand why..."

"Why what?"

Jon covered his eyes and sighed deeply. "I can't read you," he whispered.

Spencer was quiet for several seconds. "You mean, I'm void to you?"

"Yeah. Being around you is like—like trying to stare into a fucking brick wall."

"But that's not possible, the only way that would be true is if—" Spencer stopped abruptly.

"The only person I ever knew who was void to me was my father," Jon said. "And I was used to it, I _grew up_ with it. His being void to me was just...a part of who he was."

"Did he ever tell you why, though? Why it was you couldn't read him?"

Jon shrugged, letting his hand fall back down at his side. "No. I never really thought about it."

"He was present at your bonding ceremony?"

"Of course he was."

"Then he should've told you that anyone present at a Rider's bonding ceremony becomes void to that Rider for the rest of their lives." Spencer shifted against the hay. "No one knows why, it just happens that way."

"That doesn't make any sense, Spencer, that would mean you—" Suddenly he had a flash of memory to a room twice the size of the barn, a room full of warm, coopery smells, and a baby dragon waiting for him. And in that room he remembered a man and woman standing behind his father...with a little boy.

"You were there," Jon breathed. He sat up again and truly looked at Spencer for what felt like the first time. Spencer's eyes were wide as they watched Jon carefully, and while the light was too dim to see their color, Jon knew the color of blue was the same.

"I only went to one bonding as a child," Spencer said softly. "I wanted to see one so badly, but my mother kept insisting I wasn't old enough. But I remember begging her to let me go to this one boy's ceremony, because I was almost the same age as him, and his dragon's mother was my favorite." He laughed to himself. "I...I thought Helia looked familiar when I first saw her, but I never really considered the possibility...She looks just like her mother."

_Helia's mother_, Jon thought. No wonder she felt Spencer was different than the others.

"I remember Helia being so small," Spencer went on, head slightly bowed. Jon wondered if he were blushing. "I wanted to steal her and hide her in my toy box." He laughed again softly as he absently pushed the hair out of his eyes with his good hand.

"I'm glad you didn't," Jon said with a small smile. This time he didn't feel the tug of frustration and helplessness when faced with the now-familiar blankness, but he still found himself wishing he could feel Spencer, just to know that his heart was beating just as fast as Jon's.

They fell silent for awhile, and Jon let his eyes close as he concentrated on the steady rhythm of Helia's breathing and the way her stomach expanded and contracted slowly.

"It was the same for breeders, you know."

Jon opened his eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked, watching the barn dust float through the thin beams of moonlight.

"My parents supported the Guild for years, and they didn't back down just because the Government told them to. They kept breeding in secret, holding bonding ceremonies in the middle of the night and then smuggling the Riders and their dragons out before sunrise. When our home was raided, it was like we were all Riders ourselves." Spencer sounded different, younger, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jon could picture it all in his mind: the smoke from the torches being thrown through open windows, the sounds of gunfire and dragons screaming. Spencer didn't have to tell him anymore; Jon had been there himself, only he hadn't had a best friend and two sisters to escape with. He'd only had Helia.

"It was right after my birthday," Jon said, his heart thumping heavily in his chest. "My father had given me a telescope, and we were going to fly out to the coastline near our house and look at the steam freighters. I woke up thinking I heard fireworks outside my window..." He swallowed tightly, hating the way his voice caught in his throat.

He heard Spencer shift against the hay, and then callused fingers touched his arm. "It took me a long time to realize that it wasn't because of who they were that got them killed," Spencer said. "The Government promotes fear and hate, regardless of who we are." He pulled his hand away slowly, but he stayed close with his head pillowed on his coat and his wounded arm tucked against his chest. "What I'm saying is, it wasn't your fault."

Jon took a deep, unsteady breath. "I know that."

"But you don't believe it. Believing's half the battle." Spencer winced again in pain. "You should get some sleep." He carefully eased himself onto his back with a soft sigh.

"I don't sleep," Jon replied out of habit, ignoring the fact that his eyes had suddenly grown heavy.

"There's a first time for everything." He could heard hints of a smile in Spencer's words.

~

The rain turned to snow the next morning.

_If only the rain had held out a little longer_, Helia grumbled as she tiptoed through the dusting of snow on the ground, her tail held high to keep from dragging through the cold.

_You could still try gloves,_ Jon replied with a gentle smirk. They were in open country now, with very few trees to give them cover, but Ryan had insisted that the Resistance headquarters weren't far. Still, Jon didn't feel safe letting Helia fly in such unpredictable air, especially when the snow was turning everything colorless and indistinguishable.

_I'll steal your shoes and make you walk barefoot_. She shook her wings in a huff, sending a flurry of white swirling around her.

Brendon, who was a few feet behind her, laughed and said, "She still really doesn't like winter, does she?"

"No, she never has," Jon replied, beaming in earnest when Helia looked over her shoulder to glare at him.

_Barefoot_, she repeated sharply, and this time it was Ryan who laughed. Jon blinked at him for a moment; the timing was too close to Helia's comment, which had to mean—

"Her mother was the same way," Spencer said fondly. He sounded strained and slightly winded, but he had been adamant about walking, regardless of the snow. Jon didn't know if it was because Helia's limp still lingered or because Spencer was tired of riding, but he hadn't argued. Brendon had frowned and made it clear he wasn't condoning Spencer's actions, and then promptly handed him a handful of pain pills.

"Spence." There was a nervous warning in Ryan's voice.

"I told him last night, Ry, it's okay."

Brendon grabbed Jon's elbow as they all came to a stop at the top of a hill overlooking a barren field. "Told you what?" he asked softly.

Jon never liked to blush, but it was something he couldn't control. "Spencer's parents, they—they bred Helia." It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Brendon the rest, but it felt personal somehow, like a secret he wasn't quite ready to share.

Brendon nodded slowly as he chewed the corner of his thumb. "I had a feeling that was the case," he replied carefully, and for the first time, his emotions didn't flow as easily through Jon. There was a mixture of confusion and uncertainty bleeding together into something else, something that felt far too much like the jealousy he'd been directing toward Ryan the day before.

"Bren," Jon started, but he was interrupted by the sudden, abrupt pounding of wings in the air and a voice calling out, "There's a gun pointed at your heads, so don't take another goddamned step."

Jon's brain immediately went into fight mode. He shut out whatever words of comfort he had ready for Brendon and dropped his pack to the ground, drawing his rifle and cocking the hammer in one swift move. He felt Helia circle behind him, her body hugging the ground as her wings fanned out to protect him. The air was too bright with snow; Jon could barely make out the outline of a figure hovering above them as he squinted at the sky.

"Now there's a fucking gun pointed at _your_ head, so we're even," he said through clenched teeth. He would kill them if they so much as tried to take Helia, or hurt Brendon—or Ryan and Spencer, for that matter—

A thought, crystal clear as if it were from Helia herself, slipped into his mind and said, _Jon? Jonny Walker?_ The voice was so familiar, like something out of a dream.

Jon swallowed and tightened his hands around his rifle. "I'll fucking kill you, don't think I won't," he yelled out loud.

"Holy shit." The shadow in the air landed not far from them, and Jon could finally see the sweep of wings, and what looked like a man dismounting...

"How 'bout you give us some warning next time," Ryan said dryly, and Jon felt an intense rush of exhausted relief from him as the man came closer.

"Maybe you should let me know when you bring another Rider into camp, Ross," the man replied, and Jon's heart suddenly began to race. It was impossible for the man to know who he was, he couldn't _possibly_—

_Stranger things have happened, Jonny._ He heard an awestruck laugh in his head as the snow gave way to reveal the face of Tom Conrad.

Jon dropped his gun.

For years following the first raids, he'd wondered if he'd ever find Tom again, and had all but convinced himself that there was no point to looking; he was dead like every other Rider Jon knew. And yet here he was, looking straight into the eyes of his childhood best friend for the first time in nearly thirteen years. He was taller and had a scar above his right eyebrow, but somehow Tom looked mostly the same.

"How...I thought you were dead," Jon whispered. It didn't dawn on him until after he'd spoken that he didn't have to say the words out loud.

"I could say the same for you," Tom said as he came to a stop in front of Jon. His black leather coat was worn, yet oddly formal, like it had once been military issue; instead of Rider's gloves, he had plain fingerless wool ones that looked to be a hundred years old. But unlike the other Riders Jon had encountered over the years, Tom didn't look as if he were being hunted.

_Don't worry, you're safe now_, Jon heard Tom say before an intense rush of assurance nearly overwhelmed his as Tom grabbed his arm and tugged Jon into a tight embrace.

"God, how long have you—" Jon mumbled into Tom's shoulder, barely conscious of how hard he was clinging to Tom, but Tom shushed him with, "Questions later. We've gotta get you all back to camp. Especially Helia." Jon felt Tom smile at her, and Helia shivered from the cold and said, _Yes, please. But it's good to see you again, Thomas._

Jon opened his eyes and finally noticed Tom's dragon standing behind him, poised and waiting patiently even as the snow gathered on her bridle and harness. She was taller than Helia, but just as lean, and her emerald green scales were a bright contrast to the stark white all around them.

"You remember Kyryn, right?" Tom let him go and took a step back, waving his hand in the direction of his dragon.

Jon nodded at her, his throat still uncomfortably tight. _Hello_, he said tentatively; it had been years since he'd spoken to another dragon. _It's been a while, huh?_

Kyryn's eyes flashed gold as she smiled affectionately at him. _It certainly has, Jonathan Walker._

"I, uh, hate to break up the reunion and all, but should we really be standing out in the open like this?" Brendon asked, and his voice was a little too high and sharp. Jon felt a small, very distinct tug of annoyance from him that echoed the jealousy he'd felt earlier.

He frowned at Brendon in confusion, but then Spencer said, "He's right, and I'm sure Pete'll be happy to see we're back in one piece."

"Relatively speaking," Ryan sighed.

Tom frowned at Spencer's arm in a sling. "Did you get shot or something, Spence? Fuck, is that why we didn't hear from you?"

The mention of Spencer getting shot automatically brought out the guilt in Ryan; Jon had almost grown used to it. "Long story," Ryan replied, looking out over the white countryside. "Just take us home."

_Home_, Jon thought. It was a word he'd stopped using a long time ago.

~

The Resistance camp was situated on an old plantation that had once specialized in cotton. Old abandoned steam pickers sat scattered throughout the grounds like rusted dinosaurs as they followed Tom through the tall iron gates guarding the entrance. A few men stood watch with rifles, and they nodded at Ryan and Spencer as they passed through.

"Pete's having a meeting in the house, I think," Tom said, pointing toward the huge, sprawling mansion not far ahead of them. "But I know he'll be more than happy to see you all." Kyryn swooped down and landed smoothly on the gravel path leading to the house, crouching in the snow to let Tom dismount.

"Come with me," he said to Jon, smiling wide. "There's a dining hall in the house, and Spencer knows where Doc Greenwald's office is. They'll be fine."

  
Jon looked over at Brendon, and mouthed, "You all right?" He couldn't stop worrying about Brendon's constant fluctuation from anxiousness to envy, with something very much like anger mixed in between. It all felt so muted, like Brendon was _hiding_ his emotions from Jon, which he'd never done before.

"Yeah, yeah, fine," Brendon said, smiling weakly. "Go catch up with Tom." He wouldn't meet Jon's eyes.

Helia butted her nose up against Jon's shoulder. _He'll be fine, I'll stay with him_, she said. _And I need heat before I freeze to death._

_So altruistic_, Jon replied, quickly nuzzling his cheek against her muzzle. "Keep an eye on Helia for me?" he asked Brendon, gently touching his elbow. He wondered how in so few days he'd grown more tactile than he'd ever been in his life.

Brendon glanced down at Jon's hand on his arm, then nodded slowly as he took a deep breath. "Of course," he replied softly, and he finally met Jon's eyes with a genuine smile. There was a swirl of muddled emotions, followed by a clench in Jon's chest that felt as if someone was trying to hold on to him tightly.

"If you need us for anything, just ask around," Spencer said to Jon, blinking the snow out of his eyes. "We'll be with Pete, and everyone knows where Pete is at all times."

"Yeah, and he's been trying to rectify that since he got married," Tom drawled.

Suddenly the door of the main house opened, and female voice called out, "Oh my god, Spence? Ryan? Is that you?"

A brilliant, relieved smile broke out across Spencer's face. He waved with his good hand, and there were happy screams and more yelling as a dark-haired girl ran down the snow-covered path to greet them, a blond girl following close behind. They weren't wearing coats or boots, but they didn't seem to care as they threw their arms around Spencer, and then immediately pulled Ryan into the hug as well.

"You're late," the dark-haired girl mumbled into Spencer's shoulder.

He laughed softly and shrugged, looking up at Jon over the top of the girl's head. "Um, Jon, Brendon, these are my sisters, Crystal and Jackie."

"Hi," the other girl said, not letting go of Ryan. "We were baby-sitting Bronx while Ashlee took a nap, and Pete's in a meeting. God, what happened to your arm?"

Spencer wiggled free long enough to hand his pack to them. "Carry my stuff up to the house and we'll tell you everything, okay?" he said, kissing Crystal's temple.

Jon watched them head up the path to the mansion, Spencer's sisters clinging to him as if he'd vanish into thin air if they so much as let go. He wondered what it was like to come home to a family, one who was alive and happy, and the swell of envy in his chest was sudden and almost painful. He could see Helia bringing up the rear with Brendon, and he waited for the dread to set in, the buzz of fear beneath his skin that always came when he let himself be separated from his dragon—his only family.

_C'mon_, Tom said, splaying his hand lightly over Jon's back and shaking him from his thoughts. _Let me show you where you should've always been._

~

The grounds were much more sprawling than Jon had initially thought. There were designated outposts all through the camp, makeshift cabins built from scraps of wood and metal that made Jon's cabin back in Audrey look luxurious. But there was smoke coming from the chimney stacks, and Tom insisted that each outpost was quite comfortable, even though the winter months weren't exactly ideal.

"Where do you live?" Jon asked, grimacing as he realized yet again that he'd forgotten his telepathy with Tom. It had been too long since he'd been around another Rider, and since he'd been surrounded by Ryan, Spencer, and Brendon for days, it was difficult to remember that he didn't always need to speak his thoughts out loud to another human.

But Tom didn't seem to mind. "I have my own room at the main house," he said. Kyryn walked silently at his side, her wings folded tightly against her body. Tom had yet to take her bridle and saddle off; Jon thought of Helia and how she would take to wearing her riding gear without actually flying.

"How'd you manage that?"

Tom came to a stop and smiled. "Because I'm a Rider."

Jon blushed and gave an embarrassed laugh. "Oh. I see." He rubbed his gloved hands together absently. "I don't need my own room, of course, I'm perfectly happy to stay out—"

"Jonny." Tom burst out laughing. "You've been on the run, what, almost ten years now? It's time you realized that you're not an animal—you're Guild, you're _special_, and everyone here knows it. We all have a purpose, and it's not to be hunted like dogs." He laid both hands on Jon's shoulders, oblivious to the snow clinging to his shaggy blond hair. "When my father and I got out during the raids, we came here after we heard rumors of a safehouse run by ex-Government ministers—Pete's parents. This was the one place where we felt safe, and where my father felt he could make a difference. He died a few years ago, but I've never wanted to be anywhere else."

The instantaneous surge of jealousy Jon felt when Tom mentioned escaping with his father made him flinch and look away. He knew he had no right to fault Tom for having those years with what was left of his family, but a part of Jon resented him for never knowing what it was like to be utterly lost and alone. "How many others of us are there?" he asked softly.

But Tom was shaking his head, and suddenly Jon was surrounded in sympathy. _We all suffered differently_, he said before replying out loud, "There's about a dozen of us, but only half still have their dragons."

Jon shivered. "They were kidnapped?"

"Yeah, and if they're lucky, they're being held at the compound I'm assuming Ryan and Spence found." He paused in thought. "Are they all in the meeting with Pete now?"

Jon blinked at him. "Um, I guess so?"

"You mean, you can't just ask Helia to tell you? She's with them, isn't she?"

"I...yeah, she is, but the house is all the way back there." Jon waved his hand over his shoulder. "I can't communicate with her from that far away." He felt his cheeks blush again; he sensed through Tom's incredulousness that he was missing something important.

"You've never learned how to project, have you." It wasn't a question, and Jon heard him add, _Of course you wouldn't, you've never had the chance._

"It's just—for a while, after my father died, I found a teacher, and he taught me a lot, but he never said anything about projecting." He couldn't possibly list everything Frank had taught him during those two years, but Jon would have remembered if the topic of long distance telepathy had been mentioned. Granted, Frank had been more focused on dragon flight and survival techniques, something a fifteen-year-old Rider and his dragon would need to stay alive.

Tom's eyes flared slightly. _Frank? As in Frank Iero?_

Jon sighed and pushed a hand through his hair, which was growing damp from the snow. _That's him. But he's been dead for years now._ Even ten years later, Jon's heart still sunk a little.

Tom smiled. _No, Jonny, he's actually very much alive._

Jon's head snapped up. _What do you mean? How could you know?_

"Because he lives here in the camp." He paused again, and Jon felt an uneasiness about him. _Frank keeps to himself most of time. I only really see him when he comes to briefings—he's the only Rider who doesn't live in the main house_, Tom added. There was a very cautious tone in his voice.

But Jon was too focused on the fact that his old mentor wasn't dead after all, even after years of Jon convincing himself that there was no possible way anyone could have escaped from that fire. _Is Gerard with him, too?_

"I think you probably already know the answer to that question." He pointed toward what appeared to be a barn that had been boarded up with sheets of metal. Bits and pieces of machinery and scrap iron littered the ground on all sides. "That's Gerard's place."

Jon cupped both hands over his face and blinked back the hot tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "Can...can I go see him?"

_You don't have to ask permission for anything here, Jonny_, Tom replied, nudging Jon's shoulder toward the barn. _I've got to get Kyryn back to the house before she freezes, are you okay to get back on your own?_

Jon nodded as he swallowed tightly. "I'll manage."

Tom squeezed his shoulder once. _I'm glad you finally made it here._

Jon shut his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to sort through the myriad of emotions spinning through him. He thought of Helia safe and warm inside the giant mansion, and how both Tom and Frank had somehow survived here.

_So am I_, he finally replied, wishing he had Helia there to lean against.

~

Jon spent a good thirty seconds before knocking on the barn door worrying that Frank would not remember his face, that in all the chaos that came out of the Revolution, Jon had been forgotten.

But upon opening the door to the barn and finding Jon standing there nearly shaking in anticipation, Frank yelled, "Fucking _Christ_, I _knew_ it!" and promptly threw himself at Jon, hugging him within an inch of his life.

"You're really here," Jon whispered, and the tears finally let loose, dripping onto Frank's shirt as he clung to him fiercely; Jon couldn't remember the last time he'd cried.

Frank's voice was slightly muffled from where his face was buried in Jon's neck. "Damn right I am, and I told Gee a little while ago that I could _feel_ you coming. You don't know how long I've been waiting to actually be right about that for once." He finally pulled back and beamed at Jon, giving off an intense rush of happiness and relief. "Your hair's gotten all curly, kid."

"Helia always says it's too long," Jon replied, sniffing as he swiped the back of his hand over his eyes.

"Of course she does, she never let you get away with shit, did she?" Frank ushered Jon inside and called, "Gee, get down here!"

There was a loud crash from up in the barn's loft, followed by a stream of mumbled swearing, then, "Yeah, I'll be right there!"

Frank's hand was curled around Jon's wrist, as if Jon would disappear if he let go. "C'mon, kid, you need to tell me where the hell you've been for the past ten years."

He led Jon through a maze of sculptures cluttering the barn floor, all varying in size and shape and made from parts of old steam cars and dirigibles. They looked just like the sculptures from Gerard's old warehouse; in a way, it made Jon feel like he'd come home.

Hidden amongst the sculptures was a small open area with a worn velvet chaise lounge and a few chairs. Books were scattered in piles everywhere, and there was a single oil lamp on a small brass table beside the chaise.

Frank tucked himself into one corner of the chaise and pointed to the other side. "Sit," he said to Jon. "Start talking."

For once, Jon didn't hesitate to talk about his life following the raids. He was aware of Frank sliding in and out of his thoughts to say, _Keep going_, when Jon would start to falter, and he was just about to tell how he'd met Brendon when Gerard came rushing down the stairs from to the loft.

"Sorry, sorry, I just had one more adjustment to make, but I'm here now, what—" He came to an abrupt halt once he laid eyes on Jon. There was a pair of goggles pushed haphazardly up into his hair, which was in completely disarray, and his skin was smudged black from his forehead to the tips of his fingers. His clothes weren't much better off; Jon noticed he was missing a few buttons, and his suspenders looked frayed enough to fall apart. He looked exactly how Jon remembered him.

Gerard's mouth fell open, and he gasped, "Holy shit, Frank was right."

Jon didn't say anything as he got to his feet and hugged Gerard.

"He thought we were dead," Frank said, and Jon felt his regret.

"Really?" Gerard laughed in disbelief, ruffling a hand through Jon's hair. "Can't say I haven't thought the same about you, too, Walker. Where's Helia?"

"Back at the mansion." Jon swallowed before asking carefully, "And Xira?"

He felt a rush of grief and anger; it was so intense, Jon wasn't sure if it was from Frank or Gerard, or both. He didn't need an answer after that, but Frank still replied softly, "She was taken during the raid on the warehouse. I haven't seen her since."

Jon could not imagine what life would have been like for him had Helia been taken, and he hadn't spent as many years bonded to her as Frank had to Xira. Suddenly Tom's comment about Frank keeping to himself made perfect sense; Riders weren't meant to exist away from their dragons, and to force them apart usually lead to devastating side effects. Jon vaguely recalled stories his father had told him of Riders slowly going insane after losing their dragon.

He finally took a closer look at Frank now that the initial shock of seeing him again had worn off. Frank had always been thin, but now the edges of his shoulders looked sharper, his face more gaunt. There wasn't a nervous energy surrounding him anymore. Frank didn't fidget like he used to, and instead of him instantly curling into Gerard's side, it was Gerard who sat down carefully beside Frank and looped his arm around Frank's narrow shoulders.

It was the most inadequate thing in the world to say, but Jon still whispered, "I'm sorry."

Frank shrugged, and the smile he gave Jon was that of a man twice his age, one who had been worn down by time. "Wasn't your fault, kid. At least you've still got Helia, you know?" _Be grateful for that every day of your life_, he added.

_I am_, Jon said, feeling the lump in his throat again.

"So how did you end up in our happy little camp?" Gerard asked, and Jon didn't miss the way he hugged Frank a little tighter.

Jon picked up his story where he'd left off; he told them about his second day of living in the cabin in Audrey, and how Helia had come down with a vicious cold that had her shivering and coughing. In desperation, Jon had done the only thing he think of—he sought out the town's veterinarian, and prayed the man wasn't loyal to the Government. But instead he'd found Brendon, who—though he had never seen a dragon in his life—had always adored them as a boy.

Frank tipped his head back against Gerard's arm, grinning. "Sounds like this Dr. Urie is a good man."

"He's the best. I stayed in Audrey for him." Jon felt his cheeks grow hot, because he'd never admitted it to anyone out loud. "And he was there to help when Spencer was shot."

Gerard sat up. "Spencer was shot? You mean, when he and Ryan were coming back from...?" He flailed his hand a bit, and Jon nodded, filling in the details of Ryan and Spencer being ambushed on their way back from scouting the dragon training compound, and how the four of them made it back to the camp.

Frank watched Jon closely as he spoke, and for some reason Jon continued to blush. _Spence told you about his parents, didn't he?_ he asked, and Jon could hear that hint of knowing in Frank's voice that was still familiar to him.

_Yeah. Actually, his parents bred Helia._ Jon laughed sheepishly. _And he was present at my bonding ceremony._

_Ah, that would explain Helia's eyes, then. Dragons sometimes take on the traits of other humans present in the room, but usually it's just personality traits._

Jon eyes widened in surprise, and Gerard poked Frank in the arm. "Talk so us regular humans can hear," he said, kissing Frank's temple lightly.

"How well do you know Ryan?" Jon asked suddenly.

"Ross? Just that he and Spence stick together like glue, and that they both came to the camp with Spencer's twin sisters years ago. He's a bit of a romantic, but a good kid." He narrowed his eyes at Jon. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just that he..." He couldn't quite bring himself to ask about the possibility of Ryan being a Rider to someone who was still coping with the loss of his own dragon. It wasn't fair to Frank. "He kind of lives in his head," he finally said, avoiding Frank's gaze.

"Yeah, well, he's always been a little weird like that," Gerard replied good-naturedly, flicking his goggles down onto his nose.

"Hey, why don't you show the kid what you've been working on for Pete?" Frank said, abruptly changing the subject. "You told me this morning it was almost finished, so you might as well give him a sneak peek."

Gerard beamed. "Excellent idea!" He clapped his hands together and practically bounded off the chaise to the loft stairs. "I promised Pete he'd be the first to see it, but I'll make an exception for you, Walker."

Jon got up to follow Gerard, but Frank grabbed his wrist again. _You're uneasy about Ross aren't you?_ he said. _Is there a problem we should all know about?_

_No, it's not that at all._ Jon shook his head. _I've...caught him reading my and Helia's thoughts sometimes. But it's hard to tell what he really hears, and what's just a coincidence._

Frank sighed. _I sometimes wondered,_ he finally said. _In the beginning, when he and Spencer first arrived, I'd catch him looking at me funny, almost like he was uncomfortable to be around me. Then I saw him reacting the same way to Tom and the other Riders, but I never..._

He let go of Jon's wrist and rubbed a hand over his eyes. His skin was covered in the same intricate tattoos Jon remembered, designs that Gerard had created for him over the years, each one having a meaning that only the two of them knew. He'd been so jealous of Frank as a boy, wanting his own skin marked in ink forever with symbols only he himself could truly interpret. In many ways, Frank's tattoos represented the life of a Rider that Jon had always wanted.

_But he's an adult_, Jon said. _Can someone really live out their lives never knowing that they're a Rider? Is it even possible?_

Frank shrugged. _It's been known to happen, especially with orphans. If they're never brought to a bonding ceremony, they would never know their true potential._

He thought of Ryan telling him about growing up in orphanages until Spencer's family eventually took him in. _Jesus, surely Spencer would know by now._

_Ross has probably spent most of his life holding back, keeping his abilities hidden because he figured they just made him a strange kid, not a Rider._ Frank's smile was so melancholy, it made Jon's heart ache a little. _But he's too old to participate in a bonding ceremony, anyway. A baby dragon won't bond with an adult human, and adult dragons without Riders are..._ He looked away, and Jon watched him swallow tightly.

_Even if he is a Rider, he'd never believe it_, Jon said.

_Maybe he'd believe it from you. Test him sometime, see what happens._ He gave Jon a long considering look. _Did you ever learn to rein in that emotional radar of yours, or do you still let it get out of control?_

The night Spencer had the bullet removed from his shoulder was still vivid in his mind, how the emotions in the cabin nearly split his head open. _I...do all right. Most of the time._

Frank snorted. _You need to focus more, kid. It's gonna get a lot worse before it gets any better._

"Hey, you two coming up or what?" Gerard called down.

"Yeah, yeah, one second," Frank yelled back. He raised an eyebrow at Jon. _In case I forget to tell you later, it's good to have you back._ He shoved Jon's shoulder affectionately, but his eyes were a little too bright.

When Jon got to the top of the stairs, he saw Gerard standing amidst a pile of what looked like old zeppelin parts and other various metal pieces strewn over a wide wooden table. The entire loft appeared to have been converted into Gerard's workshop; it reminded Jon of a smaller, more condensed version of his warehouse.

But once Jon finished looking around the room, he noticed what Gerard was wearing.

"What do you think?" Gerard spread his hands out, which were encased in fingerless leather gloves covered in burnished metal, each knuckle hinged together by tiny bolts and cogs that looked to be taken from a pocket watch. The metal encased his arms all the way up to his shoulders, patched together with strips of leather and brass fittings, before connecting to a wide breast plate of solid brass and wire meshing.

Jon blinked several times in amazement. "It's—"

"Armor!" Gerard flexed his hands a few times, then wiggled his fingers in Jon's face. "It's a lot lighter than it looks, trust me. I tried the first prototype with cooper, but brass seems to be much more resilient to gunfire. But wait until you see the dragon version—I don't have a good model for it yet, but after I show this to Pete in the morning, I'm sure we'll find someone."

"You created armor?" Jon asked, running his fingertips over the bolts at Gerard's elbow. "For what?"

"For flight," Frank replied as he came up behind Jon. "Can't exactly go into battle if you're not protected."

_Battle_, Jon thought with a shiver.

_Like I said, kid._ Frank bumped Jon's shoulder with his own, but Jon felt a heavy rush of deep, sinking exhaustion from him. _It'll get worse before it ever gets better._

~

It was dark by the time Jon made his way back to the mansion from Gerard's barn. The heavy front door creaked loudly as it swung open, but no one came running; everything was calm and quiet.

The mansion was just as sprawling on the inside as it was outside, and while the furnishings were modest and slightly shabby, there was still a warm, inviting feeling of security throughout the house. A fire blazed in the fireplace off the main lobby, and two sets of staircases lead up to a second floor balcony, then to a third. The ceiling seemed to go on forever, ending in a giant chandelier covered in filmy, ghost-like cobwebs.

Jon stood in the foyer, snow melting off his boots onto the cracked marble floor as he stared in awe.

"You must be Jon." Jon looked over his shoulder and saw a small man with dark hair falling into his eyes walk toward him with a lazy sway in his step. He was dressed in loose breeches and a leather waistcoat; his feet were bare, and he was barechested underneath the coat. He gave Jon a wide smile as he held out his hand. "I'm Pete."

Jon's eyes flared as they shook hands. "You're—"

"Whatever it is you've heard, it's a lie," Pete laughed. "If you're looking for your dragon, she's passed out in den. I'm pretty certain she's never leaving here after tonight." He pointed down a hallway to their left, where a door at the very end stood open a crack, letting a sliver of soft light escape. When Jon peaked inside, he saw a massive room, larger than anything he'd seen in years. Another fireplace was lit in the far corner, and sleeping on top of huge satin pillows piled everywhere were at least half a dozen dragons, including Helia, who was sprawled on her back on a jade green pillow, snoring softly. Not far away from her, Jon noticed Kyryn curled into a tight ball, the tip of her tail draped neatly over her nose.

"Do they always sleep here?" Jon whispered to Pete.

"Most of the time, at least when the weather's bad. The room is protected with an alarm system in case someone tries to break in." He patted Jon's shoulder. "She's perfectly safe, trust me. Are you hungry at all?"

Jon hadn't eaten since that morning, but he was too exhausted to consider food. "No, I'm all right. Thank you, though." He gave Helia one last glance before shutting the door to the den.

"Your room's all set—first door on the right, third floor." Pete handed him a brass key. "Breakfast is usually at seven-thirty sharp, unless you're a coffee drinker, then it's six forty-five."

Jon looked down at the key in his hand. "I...I don't need a room, I told Tom—"

"Then humor me for tonight, huh? Try it on for size and decide in the morning whether you'd really rather sleep on the floor instead of having your own bed." He smiled crookedly at Jon. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a six-month-old son who only lets me get a good four hours of sleep a night. I'm past my bedtime." Pete bowed his head. "'Night, Jon Walker." He left Jon standing alone in the foyer once more, clutching the key in one hand and his knapsack in the other.

He didn't completely realize just how exhausted he was until he began climbing the stairs to his room, his muscles groaning in protest, but soon he saw the first door to the right on the third floor. He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking in the tall four poster bed with the moth-eaten quilt spread over it, and the small oil lamp burning on the nightstand. There was a wooden trunk at the foot of the bed with the lid raised, as if someone knew he'd need a place to store his Rider gear.

Jon gave a long, bone-deep sigh, and let his knapsack slide down his arm to the floor. He set his bag in the trunk and quietly shut the lid, thinking about his own trunk back in the cabin in Audrey. But thinking about Audrey made him think of Brendon, which then reminded him of Ryan and Spencer and how he hadn't seen them in hours. He wondered if Spencer had gotten his arm looked over by the camp doctor, if Brendon was getting homesick at all, if Ryan had told Pete about his and Spencer's escape to Audrey.

It was strange not having Helia close by and constantly in his head, but in a way Jon appreciated it; she wasn't there to smirk knowingly at him as he told himself he just needed to check on them to make sure they were all right before he went to sleep.

Jon didn't know which room any of them were in, let alone where those rooms would be located. So he stood in the hallway and took Frank's advice to concentrate more; he closed his eyes and pictured Spencer, Brendon, and Ryan in his mind, imagined the sounds of their voices and thoughts.

Bit by bit, the image of a door began to form in his head, and eventually he opened his eyes to find himself looking at that same door at the end of the hall, not far from his own room. He turned the knob, and the door swung open without a sound. There was another four poster bed, bigger than Jon's, with a single candle burning beside the bed on a stack of books.

In the center of the bed, slumped against a pile of pillows, was Spencer, his arm in a fresh white sling. He was shirtless, and his hair looked slightly damp, like he'd taken a bath before going to sleep. Ryan was curled against Spencer's good side, his cheek pressed to Spencer's shoulder, an open book lying on the bed at his feet. Brendon was in a chair beside the bed, his head buried in his folded arms on the mattress next to Ryan's thigh. Ryan's hand rested palm-up against the top of Brendon's head.

They looked so content and at peace, Jon couldn't bring himself to disturb them. But he also found himself eyeing the slice of space on the bed beside Spencer and thinking that, possibly, if he was careful, maybe he could fit in...

Jon shook his head. He'd gotten what he'd come for, and now that he knew they were all safe and sound, he could go back to his own room, alone, and—

"Wondered if they'd let you come back," Spencer murmured. His eyes fluttered open, and he smiled sleepily at Jon. "Brendon was getting worried about you."

Before he'd realized it, Jon had taken several steps toward the bed, until he was close enough to reach out and touch Ryan's foot. "I was just making sure you all were okay," he whispered. "How do you feel?"

"I'm not on cat tranquilizers anymore, so I feel great, considering."

Jon hugged his arms to his chest and nodded. "Good, that's good." He bit his lip. "I guess I'll just head back to my room and see you all in the morn—"

"Jon." Even half asleep and on stronger pain medication, Spencer still managed to roll his eyes. He jerked his chin toward the small empty spot on the bed. "Stay. There's room for you."

"I..." He rubbed the heel of his hand against his temple. "I don't want to disturb you guys..."

Brendon snuffled softly, and without raising his head, he slid one arm out along the mattress toward Jon and wiggled his fingers slowly, silently beckoning Jon to stay.

Spencer grinned and shifted his shoulders against the pillows. "See? You're not disturbing anyone."

It was as if Jon's body gave in before his mind could catch up; a wave of exhaustion swept over him, and somehow it wasn't nearly as hard as he thought it would be to take those last few steps and crawl into the bed. He sighed deeply when the mattress gave under his weight, and he was only a little too aware of his legs sliding against Spencer's as he pulled the covers up and around himself.

When his cheek hit the closest pillow, he felt a hand reach over and take his own. Jon opened his eyes and saw Brendon's arm stretched across the bed, his fingers laced together with Jon's.

"Are you glad you came after all?" Spencer whispered, his voice already sinking back into the rough undercurrents of sleep. He turned his head on his pillow toward Jon, and Jon felt the warmth of Spencer's breath skim over his chin.

_I'm glad I came with you_, Jon thought automatically, tightening his hand around Brendon's. Helia wasn't around to hear, so Jon didn't hesitate to think the words, even though he refused to think about what they really meant.

"So are we," came Ryan's mumbled reply into Spencer's shoulder.

Jon went very, very still. Spencer frowned sleepily, but then yawned and let his eyes close; Jon tried to concentrate on the slow pattern of his breathing over the pounding of his heart, but all he could think was, _It's true._

But his body was tired and drained, and eventually he fell asleep with his legs tangled with Spencer's, his hand clutched in Brendon's, and Ryan's words playing in his head until they faded out into nothing.

~

Jon dreamed that night that he was sixteen again and back in Gerard's safehouse.

But the building was stripped and empty, every last one of Gerard's sculptures gone. There were no other Riders or dragons around except for Frank and Xira; Frank's eyes were heavy and sad, and he looked almost regretful as he splayed his hand over Xira's neck.

_Nothing's certain_, he said to Jon before he dropped his hand and took a step away from his dragon, pulling Jon with him. _Nothing._

Jon stumbled back a bit. "What do you mean?" he asked out loud. "Why are you leaving Xira? Where is Helia, why can't I see her—"

There was a sudden bright flash of light, and the warehouse exploded in fire. The force of the explosion knocked Jon onto his back, and his mind was flooded with the horrific screams of dragons being burned alive. The smoke blinded him and filled his lungs; Jon flailed his hands out to find Frank, but all he felt was empty air and the heat of the flames.

"Frank!" he screamed, feeling hot streaks of tears coursing down his cheeks. "Helia! _Helia!!_"

"She's all right, Jon, she's all right, _you're_ all right..."

It didn't sound like Frank at all, but the whispering voice was soft and soothing. While the smoke still stung his eyes, Jon felt a cool hand shaking him gently. He wondered how someone could have such cool skin when there was so much heat.

Jon shook his head, and a sob stuck in his throat as he tried to suck air into his lungs. "She's dead, they're all dead, I couldn't do anything, it's all my _fault_." He shoved the hands away from him and yelled for Helia again, wishing that the fire had somehow taken him as well, because he couldn't go on like this, he couldn't live alone and scared.

"No one's dead, Jon." The hand cupped his cheek, thumb brushing over his eyelids, over his wet lashes. "Please wake up, it's not your fault."

Jon started to shake, his whole body trembling beyond his control. "I'm so fucking tired of being scared," he said in a broken whisper. "I just, I just need to stop, please make it stop, just for a little bit..." He reached up and blindly wrapped his hands around the wrists framing his face, waiting for the fire to overtake him. "Just let it burn," he whispered.

"Jon, no, _no_."

It took him a moment to realize that the soft, desperate pressure against his mouth was a kiss.

"Was never your fault," the voice said against Jon's lips, and suddenly Jon was being pressed against warm skin, tears still running down his jaw. His lips parted instinctively as he let himself be kissed, gentle and slow. Gradually, his heart stopped its frantic pounding.

Fingers skimmed over his cheek as their mouths parted softly. "Wake up. Open your eyes."

Jon swallowed as his eyes slowly opened. Everything was a disoriented blur until he blinked once—and found himself staring into blue eyes.

Spencer bit his lip. "Hi," he whispered, watching Jon tentatively. They were facing each other on the pillow, his hand still cupped to Jon's cheek. But he looked ready to pull away at any second if Jon asked him to.

Jon blinked back the last of his tears. "I—I'm sorry I woke you."

Spencer shook his head. "You...you were moaning in your sleep, saying Helia's name over and over again, and then you started to cry and..." He pushed his face a little deeper into the pillow, dropping his hand. "I couldn't figure out any other way to wake you up, so I just..."

"Yeah." Jon swiped his fingers over his eyes. "I'm really sorry," he said again, blushing.

"Stop apologizing, I'm the one who kissed you." Spencer laughed, sheepishly. Almost like an after thought, he lifted his hand again and pushed the sweaty curls off Jon's forehead. "Are you okay?" he added, fingertips lingering at Jon's temple.

Jon sighed as he let himself lean into Spencer's touch. His brain was still a hazy chaos of memory, but he kept thinking, over and over, _He kissed me_. It had been too long since Jon had someone to wake him from a bad dream, let alone kiss him; now more than ever, he wanted inside Spencer's head, to know if the kiss meant more than a simple moment of comfort.

"Maybe," Jon finally said, and Spencer nodded as he tucked his good hand back against his chest. A part of Jon wanted to reach out and pull it back, thread their fingers together so Jon could press his thumb against Spencer's pulse and at least feel his heartbeat.


	4. Chapter 4

Jon woke up slowly the next morning to an empty bed. Sunlight was shining brightly through the faded linen curtains, and Jon felt as if he'd truly had a real night's sleep. His head didn't feel groggy and sluggish, and when he stretched and yawned, he didn't feel as if his muscles were still aching. He splayed his hand out over the empty mattress, wondering where everyone had gone.

"Spencer's getting another check-up."

Jon sat up and rubbed sleepily at his eyes before he saw Ryan sitting in a chair beside a small desk on the other side of the room, his knees drawn up to his chest. Another book was open at his elbow.

This time, Jon didn't second guess whether or not Ryan knew his thoughts. "And Brendon?" he asked.

"Pete wanted him to look over some of the dragons since Spencer's unavailable." Ryan smiled crookedly. "And you were out cold, so we figured you could use the sleep."

Jon nodded, thinking over the night before, of the nightmare he'd had that seemed so very real, and of waking up to Spencer's hushed voice soothing him, and the kiss...

Ryan shifted in the chair and looked away, as if he were suddenly uncomfortable.

Carefully, Jon asked, "Ryan?"

"It's nothing, I..." His cheeks flushed as he fidgeted with the corner of his book. "I know Spencer kissed you last night."

Jon sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No, it wasn't—I mean, you couldn't help it, and Spencer was only trying to, to help, so." He shrugged one shoulder and added under his breath, "Not that he's never thought about kissing you."

Jon leaned forward, his heart beating a little faster. "What else has he thought about?"

Without looking up, Ryan mumbled, "He thinks he scares you sometimes, that you'll never get past him being a void to you, that it reminds you too much of—" He stopped abruptly and bit his lip. Instantly, Jon felt a rush of anxiety and shame.

"Ryan." Jon crawled to the end of the bed, focusing as hard as he possibly could. "Look at me."

He raised his head slowly, as if meeting Jon's eyes would somehow make everything Jon already knew to be true a reality. His eyes were wide and a little fearful; Jon felt his tension, felt the way he held his breath in anticipation.

_How long have you been able to read minds?_ Jon asked.

Ryan's throat bobbed as he swallowed tightly. But then Jon heard, _Since I was five._ The words flickered a bit, like a radio signal not quite registering; Jon knew it was the first time Ryan had truly communicated telepathically.

_Does Spencer know?_

Ryan shook his head, shoulders sagging. _No. I've always kept it from him._

_Why?_

"Because I've never known what the hell it was, all right?" Ryan shoved the chair back as he got to his feet, arms hugged to his chest. "I would just...hear things, in my head, that Spencer was thinking, and I'd think he was talking to me, only he wasn't, and—you can't explain things like that when you're eight years old, you know?"

"So you hid it for all these years?" Jon couldn't imagine voluntarily hiding something that was so deeply a part of who he was. His empathy and telepathy were ingrained into him, as vital as breathing.

"I didn't want Spencer or his parents thinking I was some kind of, of circus freak. They were the closest thing to family I ever had, so it was worth it." He rolled his shoulders. "Besides, Spence never noticed; he just thinks I have a knack for reading thoughts sometimes. It's like that with most people who aren't Riders."

Jon watched Ryan pace back and forth until his nervous tension died off. A part of him wondered what would have happened to Spencer's family had Ryan told them about his abilities; would he have been able to save them? Would it have mattered?

Eventually Ryan came to stop by the bed and sat down beside Jon. He didn't touch Ryan, but Jon leaned closer and said, _You know what this means, don't you?_

Ryan frowned down at his folded hands in his lap. _It doesn't mean anything._

_It means everything, Ryan. Telepathy isn't an accident, it's something you're meant to have._ He laid a tentative hand on Ryan's shoulder. _You were never a freak._

"No." Ryan shrugged Jon's hand away. "I'm not like you, I've never—how could I be? I don't know the first thing about dragons, except for whatever Spencer's taught me over the years. I-I can't read people's emotions like you can." The tone of his voice grew higher and higher, and Jon felt Ryan's tension come back stronger than before.

"Not all Riders are empathic like me," Jon whispered.

"I'm not a Rider!" Ryan's voice cracked slightly, and his hands were beginning to shake. Jon heard, _It's impossible, I'm nothing special, I could never be..._

There was a soft tap at the bedroom door, and a second later Brendon peeked his head inside.

"Um, Pete's calling everyone to the dining hall for a meeting," he said, smiling weakly. "Not sure what it's about, but it sounds important." He glanced quickly at Ryan, and Jon knew instantly that Brendon had been listening to everything; he felt a heavy wave of envy and sadness, more intense than anything Jon had felt from him before.

"Thanks, Bren. Is Helia down there?" Jon wanted to tell him, _It is what it is, don't hate Ryan for it_, but even if Brendon could hear his thoughts, Jon knew it probably wouldn't have made a difference.

"Yeah, she's fine. I think Tom's letting her have the rest of his bacon." Brendon laughed, but there wasn't much feeling behind it.

"We'll be right there," Ryan said, suddenly watching Brendon more intently. He didn't say anything else until Brendon nodded and shut the door.

"He hates me now," he said quietly.

Jon bit his lip. "He's always wanted to talk to dragons. It's not you so much as just...the luck of draw, I guess."

Ryan stood up slowly, looking utterly lost. "I don't even know if my parents were..." He waved his hand absently.

"It doesn't always have to be genetic. At least, that's what Frank used to tell me. Sometimes, it just happens at random."

"But I—I can't possibly have a dragon, can I?"

Jon wished Frank were there to help explain things. "I don't know," he said.

"Then how can I ever be a goddamned Rider without a dragon?" Ryan's voice was rising again, his jaw clenched.

Jon looked him straight in the eye and replied simply, _Because that's who you are._ The calm and assurance he felt surprised both himself and Ryan. He tipped his head toward the door. "C'mon, they're probably waiting for you."

Ryan's hands did not stop shaking until they got to the bottom of the stairs.

~

The dining hall was a wide open room with tables and wooden chairs of various sizes scattered about. There was plenty of space for both humans and dragons to eat together, even if a couple of the larger dragons had to stand on their hind legs in order to make room for everyone.

When Jon and Ryan arrived, Jon immediately spotted Helia sitting beside a table with Tom and Kyryn. Brendon and Spencer sat at the table directly behind Helia, and Jon couldn't help catching the wistful glances Brendon kept giving her. He didn't look up when Spencer called them over.

"Does Pete normally call meetings after breakfast?" Jon asked as he sat down beside Tom.

"He does when two of our people get back from a reconnaissance mission," Tom replied ruefully, handing Jon a tin cup of coffee. Kyryn was lying patiently behind Tom's chair, her head resting on Tom's shoulder. "You take it black?"

Instead of answering, Jon groaned happily. He took two large sips that burned his tongue, then looked over at Spencer. "But I thought you and Ryan already met with Pete yesterday?"

"We only told him how I got shot. He wanted us to hold off on the details of the compound until everyone could hear them." He shrugged with his good shoulder. "Pete likes to have everyone involved."

Jon wondered how much embarrassed uncertainty he'd feel from Spencer, if he could actually read him; the only indication he had was the faint blush along the tops of Spencer's cheeks when he finally glanced up and met Jon's eyes.

_Did you actually mean it?_ Jon thought, sighing as he looked away and ran his thumb over the edge of his coffee cup. There was an uncomfortable tightness in his chest he didn't like, and more than that, he hated being confused over something as simple as kiss.

_He kissed you last night?_ Helia nudged Jon's knee with her nose, her blue eyes wide with curiosity.

_I was having a nightmare again. He was trying to wake me up._

Helia smiled. _That was very kind of him._

Jon would have rolled his eyes and told her to not be so smug, but he heard Ryan, who was seated beside him, think, _Look at me, damn it._ It was accompanied by a rush of frustration, and when Jon glanced over, he saw Ryan trying to get Brendon's attention. But Brendon kept staring straight ahead, his expression completely neutral, and if it weren't for his knee bouncing in a constant rhythm, he'd seem perfectly calm. Jon felt his irrational anger, though, and caught snippets of _it's not fair_ over and over.

Spencer watched all three of them with narrowed eyes, eventually leaning over to whisper something in Brendon's ear. Jon heard, "It's nothing," and Spencer snorted, looking back at Ryan.

_I can't tell him_, Ryan thought.

Jon shook his head. _You can, you have to._ Ryan startled a little when Jon answered him, like he'd already forgotten that Jon was conscious of his thoughts.

Helia butted her head against Jon's knee again. _Tell who what?_

Jon took a deep breath and felt the moment Ryan registered Helia's question. _He's a Rider_, Jon said, and he didn't need to say anymore than that.

Helia's eyes widened, and she tipped her head toward Ryan, who quickly looked away. _We should have figured it out sooner_, she said, wrapping the tip of her tail gently around Ryan's ankle. He jumped again, and the look he gave Helia was contrite.

_Sorry, sorry, I'm not—_ He fidgeted in his seat, the back of his neck turning pink.

_It's all right, Ryan._

Jon felt a nudge of curiosity from Tom, and then, _Jonny, what's going on? Is Ross really...?_

_Yeah, he really is_, Jon said, right as Spencer leaned over his shoulder and whispered against Jon's ear, "Mind explaining what the hell is wrong with Ryan and Brendon all of a sudden?" He sounded more worried than agitated, but the second Jon opened his mouth to try and explain, Pete climbed onto a table toward the front of the room and held his hands up.

"Morning," he called. "I assume everyone's here?"

The dining hall was full, nearly wall to wall with humans and dragons alike. Jon spotted Gerard and Frank tucked into a far corner; Frank sat on the table with an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his feet in Gerard's lap. He smiled crookedly when he caught Jon's eye and saluted him with the cigarette.

_You didn't tell me Frank was alive!_, Helia exclaimed, sitting up a little taller so she could survey the room. Then Jon felt her stiffen. _But...where's Xira?_

_Don't worry about it, Pete's talking._ Jon knew Xira's absence was answer enough for her.

"As you all know by now, Ryan and Spencer were sent on a recon mission to the Tellathium Mountains in hopes of finding out if this notorious dragon training compound rumor was actually true. Turns out, it is."

Hushed murmurs filtered through the room. A man toward the back called out, "How many dragons are in custody?"

"I'll let Ryan and Spence fill you in on the details."

Ryan shook his head, slumping down further in his chair.

"Ryan," Spencer whispered. "What the fuck's wrong with you—"

"I can't do this right now, just get up and tell them what we saw." He cupped a hand over his eyes. "Please."

Spencer's face went red; whether it was from the sudden knowledge that he would be speaking without Ryan to help him along or from anger at Ryan's actions, Jon didn't know. But he eventually stood up slowly and addressed the room with, "Well, for starters, the patrolmen weren't too happy with us." He smirked as he gestured awkwardly with his sling, and there was a low rumble of laughter.

While it was obvious Spencer wasn't used to speaking in front of a large audience alone, he managed to tell everything about what he and Ryan saw at the mountain compound, right up to their escape and being shot outside of Audrey. The room was so quiet as he spoke, Jon was fairly certain he could hear a pin drop.

"I think the most important thing to keep in mind is that they've increased their artillery," Spencer said. "It's all about the guns and the new ways they keep coming up with to fire them."

"Such as?" Pete asked.

"Mortar rounds attached to wind-powered dirigibles." Spencer grimaced. "Only I think the dirigibles are just a stand-in until the dragons are trained."

"Jesus fuck," Tom murmured under his breath. Helia shuddered.

The room erupted into a low-grade chaos of questions and more questions, until Pete held his arms up once more and yelled, "All right, settle down, we knew it wouldn't be good news! But it's more than we knew before, and that's what matters right now."

"They're developing flying weapons," a woman to Jon's right called back. "They know we're planning something, and that we don't have the flight power to fight them!"

"Then we figure out a way around it, use a sneak attack!" a man near the front said.

"But we don't have _protection_—it's one thing to take out a few patrolmen, it's quite another to take on flying guns!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw Brendon raise his hand.

Pete saw it, too, and smiled. "Yes, Brendon?"

"What if it's all a trap?" he asked quietly, and the whole room went silent. "What if this compound was specifically designed to lure you out there to be ambushed? What if they have no intention of 'rehabilitating' dragons at all?" His voice shook slightly toward the end. Jon reached back and laid his hand on Brendon's knee, trying to calm his fear.

"But what if it's not?" The voice came from the far corner of the room, and Jon knew instantly that it was Frank.

No one said a word. There was an undercurrent of surprised confusion, as if Frank speaking in public were a rare thing.

Pete's expression went very serious. "What's on your mind, Iero?" he asked carefully.

Frank stuck the unlit cigarette behind his ear as he stood up on the table. He crossed his arms over his chest and surveyed the room. "We all know it's real," he finally said, and his tone was low and urgent. "This was all part of the plan from the beginning. If there's any sort of trap involved, it's that they know eventually we'll come back for what was taken from us."

Helia laid her head in Jon's lap. Beside him, Ryan rubbed his hands over and over, thinking, _It could've been my dragon..._

"We can't fight them, not with the amount of flight power we have currently," Frank continued. "The issue here isn't overtaking the compound—it's breaking in and getting what we need so we _can_ fight them."

There was a flare of understanding in Pete's eyes. "So you're suggesting we only break out enough dragons to regroup?" he asked.

Frank shoved a hand through his hair, and that's when Jon felt a surge of desperate hope from him. "I'm saying we take back what's ours. An army that isn't whole can't fight." He threw his arm up into the air. "All Riders present who lost their dragon in the first raids, raise your hand."

Slowly, a half dozen hands went up.

"Seven dragons. That's all we need."

Pete nodded, lips pursed in thought. "Then I guess the next order of business is deciding just who's going to go get those seven dragons."

"I will." Before Jon realized what he was doing, his raised his hand.

Frank smiled at him from across the room, as did Gerard. "Sign me up with the kid as well."

"Jon, you don't have to do this," Spencer whispered over Jon's shoulder. "This isn't going to be a recon mission like the one Ryan and I went on—this is more, and you only just got here—"

"I have to do it for Frank." He turned and gave Brendon a tentative smile. "You understand, right?"

Brendon winced, and Jon felt an overwhelming rush of conflicted emotions. Instead of answering, Brendon's hand shot into the air. "I'm going, too," he called out, his mouth set in a tight line.

Pete shook his head. "We need you here, Urie. You're our only vet, especially since Smith's out of commission for a while."

Spencer tipped his chin up. "What if I also want to come?" he said indignantly.

"Sorry, Spence, I'm not giving up my only breeder to possibly get shot again."

Spencer's cheeks flushed angrily. "I'm not letting Jon go by himself."

"He won't be by himself," Ryan said, still staring down at his hands. "I'll go with him."

Spencer frowned. "Wait, what? Pete just said we couldn't go."

Brendon bit his lip and said nothing. But Jon was very aware of how he avoided their eyes; the rush of jumbled, anxious feelings had yet to die down.

Ryan finally looked straight at Spencer. "He said you and Brendon couldn't go. He didn't say anything about me." _Oh god, what am I even doing?_ he thought, and Jon wanted so badly for him to tell Spencer right then and there.

"You're—you're going without me?" Spencer said, his voice sudden softer, younger-sounding.

_Just tell him_, Jon said, glaring at Ryan.

As the noise level in the room grew louder, and other Riders called out to volunteer to go on the recovery mission (including Tom), the four of them sat in silence, waiting for Ryan to be the first to speak. Helia watched them carefully, then nudged Ryan's shoulder.

_Jon's right_, she said. _Spencer deserves the truth._

Brendon made a tiny growl of frustration, getting up abruptly from his chair and leaving the hall. Jon didn't know what to say to him to make him stay, so he let him go. His head was starting to pound.

"Brendon, what—where is he—?" Spencer frowned at Jon now. "What the hell is it, Jon?"

"Everything you ever thought about me is true," Ryan blurted out.

Spencer went very still. "What do you mean?"

"I _am_ a Rider, Spence. I—I could read your mind when we were kids, but I never wanted you to think—I just didn't know what it was until Jon—"

"Jon told you this?"

Ryan's mouth twisted to one side, and he looked completely miserable. "He figured it out," he whispered.

Spencer sat back in his chair for a long moment and slowly rubbed his good hand over his face. Jon couldn't read him, but he knew Ryan could, if the wince he gave was any indication.

Ryan tentatively touched Spencer's shoulder. "Spence, I'm sorry, I just—"

"You can't just tell someone they've spent their whole lives being someone they're not," Spencer said darkly, shrugging off Ryan's hand as he glared at Jon. "You can't just come here and, and throw everything into chaos because you _feel_ like it's the right thing to do." His voice was tight.

Jon shook his head. "I didn't mean to, it just happened, and Ryan would've eventually—"

"He was perfectly _fine_, Jon, until you came along. We were _all_ fucking fine. Now you're going to drag him off to rescue dragons that may or may not even _want_ to be rescued, and I'm just supposed to stay behind and...and..." Spencer shoved his hair out of his eyes and got to his feet so fast, he knocked his chair over. "Fuck it, do whatever you like. I don't care anymore." His voice shook slightly on the last word before he stormed out of the hall.

"At least he hates us both," Ryan said, his shoulders slumping as he sighed dejectedly.

_He doesn't hate anyone_, Helia replied, and Jon thought it was easy enough for her to say, she hadn't had Spencer glaring at her as if his heart had broken a little.

Jon rested his forehead on Helia's muzzle, very aware that Tom was still sitting beside him, taking everything in.

_I can't believe you told him_, Tom said in mild astonishment. _He's too old to bond, Jon. Why not just let him go on being a normal person?_

_Because he's not a normal person, he's a fucking Rider._ Only Jon didn't feel the same assurance he'd felt earlier that morning.

~

When the hall had emptied of everyone but those going on the mission, Pete said, "Before we begin on a serious plan of action, I think there's something you all should see first..."

He waved his hand at Gerard, who immediately got his feet, rubbed his hands together, and said in a somewhat giddy voice, "Those Government bastards can have all the guns they want. Because we'll have this." He opened the lid of the trunk underneath the table and held up the armor he'd shown Jon the night before.

"He actually did it," Tom breathed. Ryan's eyes went wide.

"Welcome to the new generation of Rider, folks," Gerard said. He grinned at a gray-colored dragon sitting to his left. "And as soon as I get my dimensions right, we'll have a dragon version as well."

"It's really bulletproof?" Tom asked.

Instead of answering, Gerard promptly pulled the armor on over his head. "Take out your gun and shoot me," he said, his hair sticking up in all directions.

Several dragons twitched their wings, but no one made a move for their gun.

"No, we believe you," a tall, dark-haired Rider sitting on the other side of Tom replied cautiously.

"If you believed me, Suarez, you'd have shot me by now." Gerard met Jon's eyes and smiled. "Walker'll shoot me," he said happily.

Jon swallowed. "You can't possibly—"

"Just do it, kid, trust me." Frank almost looked bored with the proceedings; it dawned on Jon that Frank himself had more than likely shot Gerard several times in the name of science.

He looked sheepishly at Tom. "Do you have your gun?" he whispered. "Mine's in my room."

Tom shook his head as he reached inside his leather jacket to his holster. "Guess you do have Iero's permission," he mumbled.

Ryan had barely blinked. "You're really going to—?"

Jon aimed the pistol and fired straight at Gerard's chest. He felt Helia flinch as the bullet flew across the room, knocking Gerard back several feet. But he didn't fall, and once the shock had worn off, he straightened and held his arms out.

"Observe!" He patted the metal over his chest, his voice only slightly breathless. There was a significant dimple in the plate over his heart, but nothing more.

"I'd say you got yourself some bulletproof armor now, Wentz," Frank drawled. He winked at Jon. _Good work, kid._

Ryan finally let out the breath he'd been holding, leaning a little against Jon's shoulder.

~

The plan was fairly simple; they would get Frank into the compound to locate Xira, then use her to find the remaining six dragons. No scouting, no reconnaissance—it would be a fast, one-shot attack, and since Gerard only had one prototype of the armor made, it was considered too dangerous to risk losing it. They would all be vulnerable to gunshots.

No one questioned whether Xira was still alive, either—Frank swore he could still feel her, and Jon believed him, as did all the other Riders.

But there was no time to waste. Now that the Government knew the Resistance was gathering information on the compound, Pete was adamant about putting things in motion as soon as possible.

His urgency translated to a midnight departure for the Tellathium Mountains. Darkness meant safer skies for flight.

"Gather what you'll need and meet back here in a few hours," Frank said. "It's a full moon tonight, so we'll have good light to fly by."

Ryan had yet to say a word since Gerard's armor demonstration, but with every mention of flight, his shoulders hunched in a little more. He was a constant pulse of self-consciousness and doubt, and Jon began to feel guilty for ever forcing Ryan to speak telepathically. Spencer was right; Ryan already had a life of his own. Jon didn't have any business changing that.

The two of them were the last to leave the hall. Jon watched as Tom yawned and stretched on his way out, Kyryn butting her head affectionately against his back. She said something about never seeing the great outdoors anymore, and Tom laughed and made a comment about her hatred of dark skies. She poked him with the tip of her tail.

He felt more than heard Ryan's wistful sigh.

"You still don't have to go, you know," Jon said softly. "No one's asking you to prove anything."

"I know. I'm not doing this for anyone but myself." He rubbed at his eyes and thought, _This isn't your fault, no matter what Spence and Brendon think._

Jon's heart lurched in his chest. _You should go talk to them._

Ryan smiled ruefully. _So should you._

But it wasn't Jon's place to approach Spencer; he wasn't Spencer's best friend. He didn't know what he was to Spencer, if he were being honest with himself. If anything, he owed it to Brendon to explain things and put his mind at ease. He knew the camp and the mansion weren't home to Brendon, that they could never replace Audrey. It didn't help matters that everyone Brendon seemed to meet was somehow linked to what he wanted most, but could never have.

"I'm going to go find him," Jon said out loud. He didn't bother to say who; Ryan already knew.

"All right. And Spencer can never stay mad at me for long, so don't worry about him." His tone wasn't nearly as blasé as his words, but Jon nodded anyway.

~

Brendon had somehow learned the grounds much faster than Jon. After an hour of searching, Jon gave up and went back to the house, suddenly exhausted. It was already dark out, the moon casting bright, clear beams of light over the snow, reminding Jon of how little time he had before he would be leaving the camp again.

Helia had slipped off earlier to nap in the den; it had been months since the last time she'd truly had a decent flight, and she needed to conserve her strength. Jon climbed the stairs to his room and considered doing the same, knowing sleep would most likely be scarce in the coming days.

The oil lamp was on in his room, and there was a small folded stack of clean clothes waiting for him on the bed. They looked fairly new.

"New clothes for the dead men walking," Jon said with a tired smirk as he shrugged out of his duster and began unbuttoning his dingy, worn linen shirt. He sat down on the end of the mattress and toed his boots off.

"Why would you say something like that?"

Jon paused, his fingers on the last button hole, and looked up to find Brendon standing in his bedroom doorway, his arms hugged tightly to his chest. His eyes looked red around the edges.

Jon stood up slowly. "It was only a joke," he said, pulling the button free.

"It wasn't funny at all." Brendon shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. Jon saw his throat bob, and a barrage of emotions came at him at once like a punch to the gut—anger, despair, envy, regret, desperation, affection—

"Ryan told me when you're leaving." He shut his eyes, missing the way Jon flinched at the rush of empathy. "Is he really going to fly with you?"

"Helia can take us both. She'll manage." Jon wasn't quite sure of the truth in that, but it was their only choice.

After a moment, Brendon slid down the door to the floor, knees tucked against his arms. Jon couldn't find the words for how much he hated Brendon getting caught up in everything, or how he'd turn back time in an instant if it meant putting Brendon back where he felt safe; instead, Jon turned his back to Brendon, letting his shirt slide off his arms.

"Do you remember when you told me the story about your tattoo?" Brendon asked.

He hardly ever gave it much thought these days, but as Jon slowly wadded his shirt up in his hands, he felt Brendon's gaze tracing the lines of the golden dragon etched into the skin between his shoulder blades. From the day he'd arrived at Gerard's safehouse, Jon had envied Frank's tattoos, which were a sign of prominence in the Guild; they meant Frank had once been someone important, even if that life was now long gone. And although Frank had insisted that Riders were only inked once they reached their twenties, Jon still remembered the day Frank presented him with Gerard's sketch of the design modeled after Helia, and the special ink he'd created just for Jon.

"You thought I'd been born with it," Jon replied with a small smile, glancing over his shoulder.

Brendon's eyes were open, and he managed to smile back. "You were the first person I'd ever seen with one."

Jon threw his shirt on the bed and walked toward Brendon, stopping when he was close enough to kick gently at his foot. "So which impressed you more, the ink or my dragon?"

Brendon shrugged. "Your tattoo didn't beg pumpkin muffins off me once a week."

"I just control it better than I do Helia." He laughed softly, but Brendon's smile faded a little as he looked down at his hands. He was wearing his matching fingerless gloves and scarf, the same set Jon knew his grandmother had knitted for him several years ago.

"Bren." Jon knelt down beside him, cupping a hand over Brendon's knee. "I...I'm sorry, okay?" It wasn't enough, but it was all Jon could think to say.

Brendon chewed the corner of his lip and pushed absently at his glasses. "Do you think Ryan will ever get his own dragon?" he whispered. "I know he's past the age to bond, but..."

"I don't know. No one does, really." He rubbed his thumb over the seam of Brendon's trousers. "I couldn't not tell him, Bren."

"I know that. You did the right thing."

"But I'm not apologizing for that."

Brendon looked up at him over the rims of his glasses. "Then what—?"

"I'm sorry for making you choose between this—" He waved his hand at the room, "and your life in Audrey. You belonged there, your practice was there, your family...you don't deserve being on the run every day of your life."

Brendon laughed, but it was a hollow, desperate sound. He tipped his head back against the door and looked up at the ceiling. "I feel like after all this time, an empath would've figured it out," he murmured under his breath.

"Figured out what?" Jon asked, his heart thudding harder.

"That I'm horribly transparent sometimes." Brendon covered his face with both hands and gave another high, shaky laugh. "Don't you get it, Jon? I'm in love with you. I'm so fucking in love with you, I can't remember anymore what it was like to _not_ love you. I don't care about leaving Audrey behind, I just want to see you happy and not have that goddamned haunted look in your eyes all the time. That's all I've ever wanted."

Jon felt the familiar rush of warmth and comfort, only now it felt like _more_. He finally understood the constant undercurrent of affection that had always been present; Jon had never known what it felt like to feel someone falling in love with him.

Jon gently pulled Brendon's hands away from his face. "You really did all this for me?" he whispered.

Brendon's glasses were slipping down his nose, but he wouldn't look away from where his fingers were tangled with Jon's. "I told myself, months ago, that when you told me you and Helia were leaving Audrey, I'd go with you. I knew it would happen eventually, and I—" He laughed again, and the sound was a breathless, choked sound. "I didn't know how to just let you disappear on me."

Jon thought of all the times he'd almost left in the dead of night, but hadn't been able to leave without telling Brendon goodbye. "I wish you'd told me," he said, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Brendon's. It made sense now, why Brendon's emotions were always so vulnerable to him.

"I felt like I was telling you every single day," Brendon replied softly. "I'm a horrible secret keeper."

"It's one of your charms." Jon's nose was pressed up against Brendon's glasses at an awkward angle, but he didn't care. He pulled his hand free and cupped Brendon's jaw, his thumb sliding against the corner of Brendon's mouth.

"I know it's not the greatest secret, but it's all I got." His tone was self-mocking as he smiled a little, but Jon heard, _I'll never be a breeder, or a Rider. I'll never know what it's like to be you._

Jon shook his head, and his nose nuzzled Brendon's cheek. "You know all that's important. You saved my dragon."

"But Spencer and Ryan—"

"Will never make Helia pumpkin muffins, or sing songs to her in the middle of the night, or talk me out of running when I'm scared out of my mind." Jon swallowed, took a deep breath, and kissed the corner of Brendon's mouth where his thumb rested. Instantly, the constant swirl of emotions faded as Brendon went perfectly still. He turned his head just a little into the kiss, tightening his hands around Jon's fingers as his lips parted with a tiny sigh.

Jon felt a wave of relief spread over him like a warm blanket, and he thought back to the only other time he'd kissed someone before today; he'd been sixteen, still living at Gerard's safehouse, and Frank had insisted that Jon not hide himself away with Helia. He'd arranged for Jon to be alone with Daniel, the only other Rider his own age whom Jon thought he might have had feelings for. They'd kissed for a while, deep enough for Jon to feel the heat in Daniel's cheeks, but none of it made Jon feel the same emotions he'd felt the day he'd caught Frank and Gerard kissing outside when they thought no one was watching. It had been a simple kiss, but so full of want and longing that Jon spent that night curled in his bed wondering if he'd ever be loved like that in his life.

But then the safehouse was raided a few weeks later, and after that Jon's life became running and surviving; being loved by someone wasn't important anymore. He'd had Helia, and that was enough—until he'd come to Audrey.

"I don't want you to go," Brendon said against Jon's lips, and when Jon opened his eyes, he found that Brendon's were closed, his lashes fanned out over his flushed cheeks behind the lenses of his glasses. "Ryan doesn't know what he's doing, and Spencer's just so..."

Jon pulled back a little. "Angry?" He immediately thought of the kiss from early that morning, of Spencer whispering soft, soothing words to calm him, and how cool his palms had felt against Jon's cheeks. But that had been a much different kiss, one that Jon wasn't even sure counted as real, even though he kept telling himself it didn't matter.

"Among other things. He wouldn't really talk about it." Brendon swiped his tongue over his lower lip and smirked slightly. "But he's not mad at you, not really. I wouldn't let him be."

Jon shut his eyes and sighed. "I don't blame him for being upset, though," he whispered. "I've probably changed everything between him and Ryan."

"You didn't mean to. You were only trying to help—I told him that, and I think he gets it now. Maybe. It's just that he and Ryan only just got back, and now you're both leaving..."

Jon's knees were starting to ache from kneeling on the cold wood floor. He shifted around until he was curled up against Brendon's side, his back to the door, and he laid his head on Brendon's shoulder.

"I have no idea what's going to happen," he whispered, lacing their fingers together. "But for once, I'm not afraid."

Brendon kissed his temple. "But I am." Suddenly he heard, _Ryan's going to die, isn't he?_, and Jon felt a surge of fear and worry, along with something he could only identify as the same affection Brendon normally directed at Jon.

He smiled a little into Brendon's shoulder, knowing that Brendon didn't hate Ryan at all. "We'll come back to you, and to Spencer. You have to believe that." Suddenly, Jon remembered the night in the barn, and Spencer saying, _Believing's half the battle._

"I'll try," Brendon whispered back, and Jon still found himself wondering why Brendon didn't regret leaving his family so far behind. Jon wasn't worth that much sacrifice, not really; he was a half-trained orphaned Rider who could barely control his empathy and had never truly seen battle. But Brendon had had a life and a home, everything Jon had lost, and yet he'd given it all up without a second thought. If that was what love felt like, it terrified Jon. 

It was probably for the best that Brendon couldn't read his mind. Jon didn't have the energy or the heart to explain the mess of confusion and doubt swirling inside his brain. So he squeezed Brendon's hand tightly and stayed pressed against Brendon's side, letting himself drift into a dreamless sleep. Brendon never moved a muscle.

~

Midnight came much too soon. The mansion was still dark and quiet as the handful of Riders made their way outside into the snow, followed closely by the half dozen dragons that would be accompanying them. The moon was shining brightly in the clear, blue-black sky, casting a glittering sheen of silver over the white ground.

Jon breathed the cold air deep into his lungs as he pulled on his leather riding gloves. Helia was already saddled, her reins and bridle in place. She was quiet and pensive, not saying a word about the snow or the cold.

Ryan stood beside him, so full of anxiety and fear he was utterly still. He had a rifle holster strapped over his back, and he was wearing a pair of riding gloves borrowed from Tom.

"You can tell me I'm making a mistake," he whispered, his breath coming in white puffs of air.

"You're not," Jon said. "Besides, someone has to help us get back the compound."

"I don't know how to get there by _air_, Jon." He tugged his wool stocking cap further doing his forehead. _I've been a Rider for all of twelve hours. I don't have any business going._

_Stop saying that._ Jon laid a hand on Ryan's shoulder. _You made it all the way there and back. No matter what you think now, you're very brave._

But Ryan shrugged off Jon's touch and shook his head just as Frank held his hand up and called their attention. He was wearing the familiar black duster Jon remembered from years back, with matching gloves and his dark red wool scarf that was the same color as Xira. Only tonight he would be riding with Tom and Kyryn instead.

"Now's your chance to back out if there's any doubt in your mind about this mission. I don't care if I end up with only one of you, I'd rather have one committed man than a dozen half-hearted bastards who don't actually believe in what we're attempting to do." He paused to light a cigarette, the glow of the match sparking bright in the darkness. "So take five minutes, get your shit together. I'm willing to wait."

No one moved at first, but as the friends and loved ones of the other Riders gathered in the doorway of the mansion to see them off, one by one the Riders turned to say their final goodbyes. There were tears and desperate hugs, yet Jon could feel the determination in the group. They weren't going to back out.

He wasn't surprised to see Brendon and Spencer standing toward the back of the small crowd. Brendon looked half-awake from waking up alone on the floor where Jon had left him, and Spencer's jaw was twitching, as if he were gritting his teeth.

"C'mon," Jon said softly, nudging Ryan toward them. He didn't add _it may be your last chance_, or dare think it too clearly, because Ryan didn't need more reasons to doubt himself.

Jon wasn't surprised to see Brendon and Spencer there, but he was surprised that it was Brendon whom Ryan hugged first. Brendon's eyes flared, all traces of sleepiness vanishing, before he wrapped his arms tightly around Ryan's back and fisted his hands in his coat. He melted a little against Ryan, and Jon felt a tug of longing from both of them.

_I'm sorry it couldn't have been you_, Ryan thought, and it overlapped slightly with Brendon's desperate, _Don't you fucking die on me, too, I can't lose you both._

"Be honest with me." Spencer's words pulled Jon out of the swirl of emotion and thoughts from the other two. "Do you really think you all have a chance?"

Jon rubbed a gloved hand over his beard. "I think we have as much of a chance now as we ever will," he replied slowly, knowing it wasn't much of an answer.

Spencer knew it, too. He gave Ryan a sad, frustrated look. "Just...promise me something, okay?" he whispered, leaning in close. His eyes were so very blue in the moonlight, almost glowing, just like Helia's; Jon swallowed and nodded, heart thudding heavily.

"Promise me you'll look after Ryan, keep him safe." He huffed out a breath. "I'm—I'm sorry I said all those things to you, earlier. I didn't—I know it's not your fault. You've done so much for both of us, and I'm grateful for it, more than you'll ever know. But I know all the shit Ryan's gone through in his life, and I hate seeing him so lost again."

It was a testament to how far Jon had come in the past several days that he didn't hesitate to reach up and cup Spencer's cheek. "What about you?" he whispered. "Haven't you been through a lot as well?"

"This isn't about me—"

"You're as much a part of all this as Ryan is, and I'm sorry if you felt like I was taking him away from you. Regardless of whether or not Ryan ever has a dragon, he still needs a family, and you're all he has." Jon bit his lip, adding to himself, _Plus Brendon and me._

Spencer sighed, leaning into Jon's touch. "I'm glad you can't read me," he said with a small smile. "Because then you'd be able to tell how scared shitless I am right now."

"Don't be. Think about how you're staying with your sisters, and about all the dragons you'll be helping as soon as we get back." Jon slid his hand down Spencer's cheek and linked both hands at the base of Spencer's skull, framing his jaw with his thumbs. "And I'll make that promise to you, as long as you promise me something in return."

"What?" Spencer asked, eyes flicking down to Jon's mouth for a split second.

Jon's heart pounded in the back of his throat. "Promise to take care of Brendon for me," he breathed just before he pressed his mouth to Spencer's. The kiss was soft and careful, much like the one they'd shared earlier that morning, only this time Jon felt in the way Spencer kissed him back that it was real, that Spencer wanted to kiss him, and not just out of sympathy. He splayed his good hand over Jon's chest, fingers curling into the beaten old leather of Jon's duster. Jon couldn't feel a thing besides his own racing heartbeat, but it didn't matter; the catch in Spencer's breath when Jon parted his lips slightly was telling enough.

"All right, boys, time's up," Frank called. "It's a quarter after midnight, and our asses need to be in the sky as soon as possible."

Spencer broke away first, gasping softly, eyes slightly dazed. His lips looked very shiny, and Jon couldn't help thinking, _I did that._

"Go," Spencer whispered, although he'd yet to drop his hand from Jon's coat. "And I promise."

Jon took a few steps back until Spencer finally let go. He smiled crookedly at him, ignoring the painful clench in his chest as he watched Spencer swallow tightly and finally look away. Ryan was standing just behind Jon, and there were no words spoken when he and Spencer hugged. They clung to each other with an almost white-knuckled desperation, and when Spencer whispered something in Ryan's ear, Jon thought he caught sight of tears in Spencer's eyes as he felt a sharp stab of guilt and regret from Ryan.

"They're going to leave without you," Brendon said softly. He touched the back of Jon's elbow, and Jon turned to throw his arms around Brendon and hold him close, trying to memorize the easy way Brendon fit against him, the feel of Brendon tucking his face into the hollow at Jon's throat. _I can never hug you enough_, Jon realized, and he felt his own eyes start to burn.

"Frank can wait for me," he said roughly, kissing the top of Brendon's head. "I made Spencer promise to look out for you, okay?"

"I don't need looking out for," Brendon mumbled, holding on tighter as his affection and desperate fear rushed through Jon.

"Then humor me. It'll give Spence something to do." He could feel around the edges of Brendon's thoughts that he'd seen Jon kiss Spencer; Jon's heart clenched a little as he waited for the hurt and jealousy to follow.

But all he felt was a strange, warm spike of emotion. Brendon slowly lifted his head and smiled. "You called him Spence."

Jon flushed. "Yeah..."

Brendon kissed the corner of Jon's mouth and whispered, "See, you're not broken, Jon Walker. You just needed to figure out that people can and still do love you."

_But I need to earn it_, Jon thought.

"Guys, let's go, mount up!" Frank called, louder this time. Jon saw him jerk his chin at him and Ryan. _C'mon, kid, they'll be here when we get back._ But Jon could see Gerard behind him, still holding on to Frank's hand.

"Be safe," Brendon whispered as he dropped his arms and hugged his chest. He kept his head bowed as Ryan gave him one last hug, shutting his eyes when Ryan kissed his cheek. Jon couldn't let himself look back again as he and Ryan turned to trudge back through the snow to the dragons waiting patiently for them, their wings still folded close to their bodies.

Helia nuzzled Jon's chin as he checked her bridle one last time. _They love you, you know._

Jon swallowed hard, wondering if Ryan had heard her. _How do you feel?_, he asked, scrubbing the heel of his hand over his damp eyes.

_Cold and sleepy, but I'll manage. You're ignoring me._

_I've got other things to worry about about, all right?_ He exhaled loudly as he rolled his shoulders. _Focus, damn it,_ he told himself, giving the reins a tug. Then he glanced at Ryan. "Ready?"

Ryan stared at the empty saddle with equal parts dread and fascination. _Ready as I'll ever be, I guess_, he said, flipping the collar of his wool coat up as he wrapped his scarf more snugly around his neck.

All around them, one by one, dragon wings expanded and beat against the air, lifting them gracefully into the night sky. Jon put his left foot into the stirrup and swung his leg over Helia's back as he eased gently down into the saddle. He'd missed the feeling of being astride her, of having the reins in his hands and Helia's wings spread and ready for flight; in many ways, it felt like coming home. 

He held his hand out to Ryan. "Here we go," he said out loud, giving Ryan a hopeful smile as he helped pull him onto Helia's back. The saddle wasn't big enough for the two of them, but there was enough room for Ryan to ride pillion behind him. Once Ryan was seated snug against Jon's back, his arms wrapped tight around Jon's waist (_If I fall, you'll catch me, right?_ Ryan asked shakily, and Helia actually laughed), Jon splayed his hand against Helia's neck.

_Ready when you are,_ he said.

Helia threw her head back and gave a sharp cry that rung out high and clear. The other dragons answered her flight call, and the sound of dragons calling to one another in the dark was one of the most beautiful things Jon had ever heard.

_Yes, I do believe I'm ready_, she said, and fanned her wings out. They fluttered once, then her whole body went tense as she lifted into the air, her wings beating hard enough to ruffle Jon's hair. He dug his heels into her sides, steadying himself as they rose higher into the sky, Ryan clinging to him for dear life. Jon glanced back at the world below, and he could still make out the shapes of Brendon and Spencer standing out in the snow, watching them fly off into the night.

He saw Kyryn fly by with Tom and Frank, and Jon said, _Follow Kyryn, and we'll be set._

_That's easy enough_, Helia replied.

Ryan pressed his face into Jon's back and never looked down.

~

The flight felt longer than Jon had imagined, and the cold air bit sharply at his cheeks the higher they rose into the sky. Low flying meant easier detection, so they stayed high above the clouds, where there was no sound except for the swoop of wings gliding through the air.

Jon felt Helia shivering, but she didn't say a word, only kept her legs tucked close to her body and her tail curled inward. His heart ached for her, knowing how much she hated the cold.

_She's freezing, isn't she?_ Ryan said. His hands were still locked around Jon's chest, although his grip had lessened somewhat.

Jon didn't reply; talking about it would only make Helia shiver more.

They flew until the cold seemed to sink deep into Jon's bones, his hands almost numb inside his leather gloves. Ryan's breath came in short, warm bursts of air against the back of his neck, and Jon tried to concentrate on that one tiny bit of heat and let Helia feel it as well.

Up ahead, he saw Frank suddenly make a downward motion with his hand, and in a matter of seconds, the clouds parted to reveal the ominous silhouette of the Telathium Mountains.

"I can't believe we're here already," Ryan breathed, unconsciously pressing closer against Jon's back. "It's hundreds of miles from the camp--"

"Everything's different when you're in the air," Jon replied as he pulled gently at Helia's reigns. _We're almost there._

_If we make it back in one piece, I'm demanding that Brendon make me his famous hot chocolate_, Helia said. She sounded slightly hoarse, her voice shaking and breathless from the cold.

_You can have all the hot cocoa in the world, I swear._ Jon had managed not to think about Brendon or Spencer for the last hour, focusing himself on the flight and what would happened the moment they arrived at the compound. But his focus cracked a little as he remembered the desperate look in Brendon's eyes, the resigned loss in Spencer's voice, and how each of them had kissed him as if it would be the last time--

_I knew he'd let you_, Ryan said.

_Who? Let me do what?_ Jon shut his eyes and sighed, forcing his mind back to the present.

_Spence told himself he wouldn't kiss you again, but I had a feeling he'd give in if you kissed him first._ Jon felt Ryan rest his chin on his shoulder. _And I can't believe you didn't know Brendon was in love with you,_ he added, his thoughts followed by a strange rush of amused affection and jealousy.

Jon stiffened. _It's—it's not something I really thought about—_

_I knew it from that first night I met you both. He'd do anything for you._

His chest was beginning to ache, and not just from the unrelenting chill in the air. _I'm...not used to being wanted, all right?_ he swallowed. _Not like that._

Ryan's arms shifted around Jon's chest as they flew closer to the mountain range. _Neither am I_, he finally replied, and Jon caught a glimpse of a wistful, bittersweet smile, and a flash of Brendon clinging to Ryan.

_You've got to concentrate more, kid._ Frank's words cut sharply through Jon's thoughts. _We can't be worrying about everyone we left behind—all that matters is now. And now means you follow Tom and me and land in the trees._

Jon looked up just as Kyryn took a sudden dip and flew nearly straight down into the dense forest bordering the edge of the mountain base. He tugged at Helia's reins and told her to do the same. The trees were thick, which made navigating difficult, but eventually the rest of the group landed safely on the dry, snowless forest floor.

"Everyone accounted for?" Frank called as he climbed off Kyryn and rolled the kinks out of his neck. Jon half expected him to immediately light a cigarette.

The second Jon dismounted and Ryan slid off her back, Helia curled up like a cat into a tight ball, her tail wrapped all the way around her body. She closed her eyes, and Jon heard her think over and over again of hot cocoa and warm pumpkin bread.

Tom laid a hand on Jon's shoulder, his nose bright red from the cold. _Long flight, huh?_ He jerked his chin at Helia huddled on the ground, then at Ryan standing hunched and exhausted behind Jon.

_At least we made it?_ Jon replied sheepishly.

Tom smiled. _I'm glad you're here, Jonny._

~

The entrance to the compound was a simple opening at the base of the mountain, like a small mouth of a cave, and it was guarded by a single patrolmen with a rifle. But Ryan insisted that the low security was due to the heavy protection of the trees, and the fact that many more armed guards were stationed further inside.

"How do you know this?" Frank asked.

Ryan flushed. "I heard the guard thinking about when his relief would come."

"How many are there for certain?"

"A dozen, maybe more. Spence and I could never get a decent count, but we did see at least five come out with a batch of dragons for test flight."

Tom said, "We just need to take out the main guard and get inside. It's early, they'll most likely be down to a skeleton crew at this hour." He pulled his rifle out of the holster strapped to his back and cocked the hammer.

"No, wait." Jon held his hand up. "Let me do it."

Frank frowned at him curiously. "Why? Any one of us can take that guy out easily."

"But look." Jon pointed through the line of trees to where the guard paced lazily back and forth in front of the entrance. To the right on the cave wall was a wire phone, the mouthpiece built into the rock beside a rotary dial. "They've got communication—they'll know immediately when something goes wrong."

"True, but why should you be the one to take him out?"

Jon took a deep breath. "Because I'm good a blending in—I've been doing it for years. He's about my size, I'll steal his uniform. It'll buy you all some time."

Frank scrunched his mouth up in thought before looking over his shoulder at the rest of the group. "So Walker takes care of the guard and the rest of us head in. First and foremost, we find Xira. Everyone savvy?"

The men nodded, except Ryan. _You'll be out here alone_, he said, suddenly frantic. _If something happens to you, we won't even know—_

_You'll know_, Jon replied, ignoring the rush of fear in his gut as he a carefully took out his own rifle and checked the chamber for bullets.

_Jon—_

_I'm doing this. Besides, you were the one who said Riders were heroes, right?_

Ryan flinched like he'd been punched. _That was...I didn't know what the fuck I was talking about—_

_Yeah, you did. And you were more right than I wanted to admit._ He smiled crookedly at Ryan before saluting Frank with the muzzle of his gun.

"Watch your back, kid," Frank said, and added, _Yell if you get into trouble._

Helia was still curled into a tight ball in a pile of leaves, but she lifted her head when Jon came over to kiss the tip of her nose. _We'll be watching out for you_, she said, her eyes flashing blue as she nodded toward the rest of the dragons, and Jon was grateful that she didn't try to talk him into staying with the group.

_Stay warm_, Jon said, then headed out of the forest and back into the snow.

Tom had been right about one thing—the early hour meant the patrolmen were sleepy and careless. The guard stopped mid-pace, stretched, and yawned deeply, completely oblivious to Jon creeping up silently behind him. But he turned at the very last second and met Jon's eyes, gasping.

"Stop right—!" But he never finished his thought. Jon drew his rifle and struck the man across the back of the head, waiting until he dropped to the ground unconscious before signaling to the trees.

_Not bad!_ Frank said, giving Jon a thumbs up as they hurried through the mouth of the cave as Tom and Ryan brought up the rear.

Ryan glared fiercely at him. _If you get killed, Brendon and Spencer will never forgive you for it._

Something warm and comforting and completely at odds with the urgency of the situation filled Jon's chest. He almost wanted to smile at Ryan, but it was too late—they had already disappeared around the bend of the cave.


	5. Chapter 5

It was easy taking the uniform off the guard, and only slightly more difficult to drag his body into the trees. But the hard part came later, after Jon had changed into the dark maroon colors of the Government and gotten back to his post, fumbling to get the hat on straight.

The wire phone crackled suddenly. "Grayson, you all right?" an deep, older voice asked. "You didn't check in earlier."

Jon's heart flew into his mouth as he desperately flipped various switches. He hadn't used a wire phone in years. "Uh, yeah, sorry about that," he finally said into the mouthpiece, laughing sheepishly for good measure. "Thought I saw something in the forest, so I went to investigate." He could felt Helia anxiously watching him from the trees.

There was a long pause, enough time for Jon to start panicking. He didn't know how far Frank and others had gotten, but if the alarm was sounded now, they were all dead.

But then the voice chuckled and replied, "You've been out in the cold too long, Grayson. I'll send Pulero out to relieve you."

Jon almost swallowed his tongue. "Naw, I'm good, really. The fresh air's doing me good."

"You've been out there for almost nine hours now. And you sound like you're coming down with something, your voice is deeper. Don't worry about it, I'm sending Pulero out right now." The line went dead, and Jon gritted his teeth as he slammed his hand into the rotary dial. In a matter of minutes, they'd be caught, and Jon's stupid plan to buy them all time would be ruined.

_Just breathe._ Helia nudged against Jon's frantic thoughts. _You know they're coming, but it's only one, right? We can figure something out—_

_No matter what I do now, we're running out of time._ Jon slumped back against the entrance wall and shut his eyes, trying his damnedest to keep his focus. He pictured Ryan and Frank and Tom in his mind, creeping silently through the compound tunnels, and thought, _They're coming soon. You don't have much time._

Instantly, he heard Frank reply, _Do what you can. We're almost there._

Jon didn't know what that meant at all—almost to where? Had they found Xira? Had they found anyone? If only he hadn't opted to stay behind and be utterly _useless_—

He was so lost in his thoughts, he failed to see the hidden door near the mouth of the cave swing open until it was too late. Two men in uniforms identical to the guard's took one look at Jon and froze.

"What the hell, you're not Grayson," the shorter of the two said. "Show me your badge."

Jon smiled weakly and held both hands up. "I...forgot it?" he said, heart racing. He could feel every dragon in the forest go on alert.

The man frowned at Jon, then suddenly his eyes flared. He drew his gun and pointed it straight at Jon. "He's got blood on his collar!" he cried.

Jon watched in horror as the taller man ran over to the wire phone, his gun also aimed at Jon, and dialed a number on the rotary pad. "It's Pulero and Stannon, tell the captain we've got an intruder alert," he said into the mouthpiece.

_Stop him, Jon!_ Helia yelled, just before she tore out of the trees and flew straight at the guard.

The shorter man screamed, "Dragon!" and pointed his gun skyward, but Jon snapped out of his fear and threw his elbow into the man's chin, knocking him back enough to drop the gun. He didn't pause to think for a second as he grabbed the gun and fired two rounds into the man's chest. The taller man tried to fire back at Jon, but Helia wrestled him to the ground, batting the gun away with her tail.

Jon stood over the body, panting, his gun hand tense and trembling only a little. A bloom of red flared out slowly over the front of the dead man's uniform.

"You're Resistance, aren't you?" The guard still left alive sneered at Jon, although he was still a bit breathless from being held down by a dragon twice his size.

Jon pointed the gun at the man's head. "I am," he replied without any hesitation. "And you're going to tell me the easiest way to get into the compound."

The man snorted. "Sure I am. One single worthless Rider and his dragon don't frighten me."

Helia made a growling sound low in her throat, and suddenly the rest of the dragons emerged from the forest. The man saw them approaching just before Helia dug her claws deeper into his chest.

_I'm going to shred him_, she said softly, and the man gasped as he winced in pain.

"She'll kill you, you know," Jon said calmly. "And it'll be slow and infinitely painful. At least my bullet will make things quick and easy."

"F-fuck you, Rider," the man hissed. Jon could see the first signs of blood trickling out of the holes Helia's claws were making in his uniform.

Jon shoved the muzzle of the gun against the man's temple. "Tell me how to get in, or I'll give you a shot to the gut and leave you for the rest of them." He jerked his head toward the rest of the dragons descending upon them, their eyes flashing.

He could feel the exact moment the man's resolve cracked. "All right, all right! There's a door over there, in the cave wall." He pointed weakly. "It's a secret express tunnel to the facilities."

Jon's stomach went cold. "Facilities?"

"Testing sites. We leave the dragons involved in experimentation there for observation." The man moaned when Helia twisted her claws.

"Are you observing now?" Jon held his breath.

"We're always observing, the Ministers want constant updates."

Jon shoved the gun into the back of his uniform pants and grabbed his rifle as well. _C'mon, we've got to find the others_, he said to Helia.

She left the man lying on the ground bleeding as Jon climbed into the saddle. _Make it slow_, she said in a deadly calm voice to the other dragons. The last thing Jon heard as they took off through the secret tunnel were the man's screams.

The passage was almost completely dark, the only light coming from a handful of lamps attached to the cave walls. Helia slunk along the ground, her wings tucked close to her back, shielding Jon, who didn't want to risk flight inside.

_See anything?_ she asked.

Jon shook his head. _Nothing yet, I—_ They rounded a corner, and he was abruptly hit with a wave of emotion so intense, it felt like a brutal punch to the head. He pulled at Helia's reins, falling forward slightly against her neck.

_Jon, what is it, what—?_

He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead and tried desperately to focus through the devastating pain and sorrow that threatened to overwhelm him. _I think we've found the facility,_ he replied slowly, taking deep breaths into his lungs.

Helia pressed closed to the cave wall, her body tense as her tail lashed back and forth. _You can feel them, can't you? The ones being 'observed'?_

The pain in his head was enough to make him nauseated, but Jon swallowed hard and forced himself to picture Ryan and Tom and Frank sneaking through the dimly lit tunnels. _Come find me_, he said. _This is where we need to be, I know it._

Then Helia came to a sudden stop and said, _Oh god._

Jon opened his eyes carefully. The tunnel had lead them to a cavernous room full of giant cages. Various wires attached to tiny light bulbs crisscrossed the floor and wrapped around the cage bars like ivy, and they all led back to brass boxes covered in dials and switches, which were placed throughout the room on large iron pedestals. There was a low-grade humming coming from the boxes, and every few seconds, the light bulbs would flicker.

And inside each cage, hooked up to a series of wires, was a dragon.

_What monster could do this?_ Helia said, her voice shaking with rage. _They're...they're being—_

_Being drained of their psychic abilities_, Jon finished. He didn't know how he knew, but he could feel it in the way the emotions came at him in fits and starts, fading in and out like a radio signal being slowly lost. The dragons were conscious, but they didn't speak or acknowledge Jon and Helia's presence; they kept their heads bowed and their eyes closed, almost as if they were trained to do so. Jon wondered if they could even communicate anymore—that was the trick to controlling the dragons: take away their telepathy and they were completely powerless.

_We've got to get them out of here, Jon, we can't leave them like this!_ Helia was shivering, and Jon could feel her heart racing.

Jon tried to focus his thoughts and project once more, telling Frank their location. He was met with silence again, until he heard Frank's voice in a faraway whisper ask, _Do you see Xira?_

The room was only illuminated by the flickering bulbs, making it difficult to identify the dragons. Jon dismounted and stepped carefully through the mess of wires on the ground. He'd managed to contain the flood of emotions in his head somewhat, but it was still a dull, aching throb that pounded a little more fiercely as he neared a cage. There was a small blue dragon with gold wings in the first, a thin orange dragon that looked nearly drained of its vibrant color next to it, and a beautiful black male with white eyes in the cage on its other side.

In the largest cage, tucked into the back corner of the room and half-covered with a thin white sheet, was a massive blood-red dragon with black wings and claws.

It was Xira, barely conscious. Her wings were limp, and she was leaning against the side of the cage as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.

_She's here_, Jon said, almost losing his focus in his rush to tell Frank. _Xira's here, she's alive._

_Don't move, we're coming for you,_ Frank replied immediately.

Jon put his hands on the bars and tried to shake the cage. _Xira! It's Jon, Jon Walker! D'you remember me?_

The dragon blinked her eyes sleepily at him. She seemed disoriented, hazy, and Jon could feel her confusion.

_Frank was my mentor when I was younger—at the safe house with Gerard. There was a raid and you were taken, remember?_

She tilted her head slowly and leaned closer. There was a flicker of something, possibly recognition, but Jon couldn't be sure.

_Please, you have to remember. Your name is Xira, and your Rider is Frank Iero. We're here to rescue you, take you back where these men will never harm you like this again._

Very, very faintly, he heard a voice say, _Frank? He's here?_

Jon wanted to melt against the cage bars in relief. _Yes, he's on his way. Can you tell me how to open these cages?_

Xira blinked again at him, and the haze started to clear from her eyes. _Jonathan Walker_, she said, her voice stronger. _I didn't know you were still alive._

Jon laughed as he felt his throat tighten, and tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. _Yes, I'm very much alive._

_Jon, someone's coming!_ Helia called from where she stood watch at the mouth of the tunnel. He could hear the echoes of voices yelling down the opposite passageway, footsteps pounding against the ground—like men running.

_Quickly, how do you open the cages?_ Jon asked again, his palms beginning to sweat.

Xira rose to her full height, which was taller than any other dragon Jon had ever seen, and shook off the wires attached to her body. _The cages are wired to an alarm system_, she said. _But I doubt that matters now._ And with that, she swung her tail back and smashed it into the cage door, sending sparks and wires flying everywhere. The crash startled the rest of the dragons out their forced stupor.

_Helia, just start breaking them!_ Jon yelled as Xira crashed her tail into another cage. He ran from cage to cage and spoke to the dragons as best he could, asking their name and their Rider's name. Some were foggier than others: the black male was the worst off—he could barely form complete sentences anymore, but he was able to say his name was Sy, and that his Rider had been killed in the raids.

Suddenly Jon felt a rush of fear and anxiety, followed immediately by a voice calling down the opposite tunnel, "They're already in there, everyone stand your ground! No dragon gets out alive."

He was too late—they were seconds away from being captured. Jon didn't know how much time he had before Frank arrived with the others, but it didn't matter; he drew his rifle and pointed it straight at the mouth of the tunnel. _Get them all out of here_, he said to Helia over the pounding of his heart. _I'll hold them off for as long as I can._

_You're a goddamn fool if you think I'm leaving you here alone,_ Helia shot back. _And half of them can barely walk, Jon, let alone—_

Helia didn't finish her thought, because the room suddenly exploded in gunfire. Jon saw a blur of maroon uniforms the moment before they opened fire, and he barely got a shot off before ducking behind a corner of the cave wall. A man shouted over the chaos, "Don't shoot the machines, for god's sake!" but no one seemed to listen, especially when Xira went up on her back legs and began lashing at the Government men, roaring her anger as she bared her teeth, oblivious to the bullets flying past her.

But the other dragons were huddled together in confused fear, and Jon felt completely helpless as he watched them inch back toward their cages. They were broken enough to think they had nowhere else to go, and Jon was too outnumbered to save them. Helia raced across the floor and pressed into the corner with Jon, panting, _There's too many of them, and the others won't listen to me when I tell them to fight back like Xira._

_She's going to get killed_, Jon said in dismay as a bullet nicked her wing. Xira reared back and swiped the shooter with her front claws, sending him flying into the air. _I only just found her and she's going to die before Frank even gets here._

_You underestimate me, kid._ Frank's words felt like a warm hand patting Jon's shoulder, and a second later, the Government started firing back at the opposite tunnel. Jon heard Frank yell something out loud, something that sounded very much like Xira's name, and when Jon peered around the corner with his rifle, he saw her tear through the men to get to her Rider. Tom and the others ran in behind Frank, rifles drawn; even Ryan had his gun aimed and ready, a fierce, determined look on his face.

_You all right, Jonny?_ Tom called.

_I'm fine, but we've got to get the dragons out of here—they've been experimented on, so they're pretty bad off._

Ryan's voice cut in, _Are they the ones in the corner? The black and amber-colored ones?_

Jon's heart was racing so fast he could barely breathe. _Yeah, that's them._ He tried to focus on Ryan, share in his determination, but the chaos was too much for him to read anyone. _But they won't move. It's like they've been brain washed or something._

_And there are more patrolmen on the way_, Tom said. _We got past a half dozen of them, but not before they called over the wire for more back-up._

_Wait_, Ryan said suddenly. _I...think I have an idea._

Jon risked glancing around the corner again to see Ryan crouched down along the floor, crawling on his hands and knees over the mess of wires. But he moved quickly and with purpose; eventually he stopped beside Sy's cage and pointed his rifle at the largest of the brass machines.

_You can tell me what it does later_, he said ruefully before counting down from three. He took the shot, and the machine exploded into a shimmering spray of sparks and flames.

"I told you not to shoot the machines!" the Government man cried as the rest of the men ran for cover from the fire. Jon saw Ryan stumble across the debris to the huddled group of dragons and hold his hands out to them. Sy ducked his head and trembled as Ryan knelt down in front of him and cupped both hands over his muzzle. Jon couldn't read them through the cacophony, but he knew Ryan was instinctively comforting him. Soon, to Jon's astonishment, Ryan had the dragons moving slowly toward the side passage that led back outside.

_They're moving!_ Helia cried.

_He did it,_ Jon thought in amazement. Then he promptly raised his rifle and shot at another machine, sending a second explosion into the air. The Government men were disoriented, screaming orders at one another while the rest of Frank's group fired round after round into the machines, creating a distraction for Ryan to move the dragons out.

_C'mon_, Jon said, pulling at Helia's bridle. _They're almost to the passage, we'll cover them._

Helia nodded, flattening herself against the ground as Jon swung around the corner and fired the rest of his ammunition at anything wearing maroon. He stumbled across bits of debris, but Helia caught him before he fell, pushed him back to his feet, and together they raced to the passageway where Ryan and the rest of the dragons waited.

"They won't go any further!" Ryan yelled out loud, flailing his hands helplessly. "I keep explaining that we're helping them, that this is the way to freedom, but—"

_Will you all fly and follow me?_ Helia asked them, her voice strong and authoritative. _I'll guide you, there's nothing to fear._

The dragons flinched at each gunshot and didn't reply. Jon heard Frank yell, _Damnit, Walker, you and Ross have got to get them out of here, now!_

_We'll lead you, all right?_ Jon asked them, laying his hands on each of their necks, the universal sign of respect. _On my honor, I won't let anything happen to you, I swear._

_Me, neither_, Ryan added, his hand still on Sy's muzzle.

Gradually, the dragons lifted their heads. _We'll follow_, the blue dragon whispered faintly.

Jon climbed into Helia's saddle, shouldering his rifle. _Then let's go, before we all get shot._ To his utter amazement and awe, he watched as Ryan leaned in close to Sy and whispered, _You can do this_, before climbing onto the black dragon's back.

They took off down the passageway, gunshots echoing behind them, and Jon tried frantically to focus enough to see if anyone unwanted was waiting for them on the other side. He couldn't get a clear picture of anyone, so he tugged hard on Helia's reins and said, _Faster._

Helia knew exactly what he meant. She charged down the remaining length of the passage, wings spread as wide as possible, and burst through the door, shattering it into a thousand pieces. Her wings fanned out, and together she and Jon flew straight into the air, almost vertical to the ground. The cold wind stung Jon's eyes, but he blinked back the tears and looked over his shoulder to see four other dragons in the air behind them, including Ryan and Sy. Ryan's eyes were wide, and he didn't have a single bit of Rider gear, but he clung fiercely to Sy, who wobbled a bit in the air.

"Take them back to the camp! As far away as you can get!" Jon yelled to him.

Ryan shook his head. "I'm not leaving you here! I don't even know what I'm doing!" Sy's wings looked stiff and awkward, and Jon felt anxious fear from both of them.

"They're vulnerable out here, we can't—"

Suddenly there were shots ringing out from the ground below, and bullets began flying past them, barely missing the edge of Helia's wing. Government men were pouring out of the tunnels, every one of them armed with a gun pointed straight at the sky.

_Jon, let's go, c'mon! Frank and the others will catch up!_ Ryan said.

But what if they were all dead inside the facility? What if Frank was counting on them to wait until they all made it out safely? He couldn't focus through the pounding in his head from unconsciously feeding off Ryan's fear and the dragons' disorientation and confusion.

The thundering roar followed immediately by exploding rock shook Jon out of his hysteria. Through the dust swirling in the air, he caught glimpses of dark red and black wings, along with flashes of what appeared to be another handful of dragons flying out of the chaos, and he heard men screaming.

_Get out of here, kid!_ Frank called. Immediately, the rest of the Riders' dragons flew out of the forest and rushed the Government men, and once the dust cleared, Jon could see Frank riding Xira, firing his rifle at anyone who managed to not get the brunt of Xira's claws and teeth. The others climbed onto their dragons and soared into the air while patrolmen screamed and fired round after round. A bullet nicked Tom's right shoulder, and many of the others were bleeding as well, but they were airborne.

Except for Frank.

The men were closing around him and Xira, and Jon could feel Xira's strength waning. She hadn't much to begin with, had simply been operating on pure anger and adrenaline, but it was taking its toll. Jon knew Frank was running out of ammunition as well, but he was far from backing down. At this point, Jon was certain Frank never would.

_I've got to help him_, Jon said, pulling on Helia's reins.

_Jon, he told us to get the dragons out of here._

_But I'm not leaving him to die, not now!_ He glanced back at Ryan. _Go with the rest of them, take care of Sy_, he said before steering Helia back into the fray and quickly reloading his rifle.

"Jon, wait!" Ryan cried, but it was too late. Helia was aimed straight at the patrolmen, and Jon's gun was aimed as well. If he could get enough shots off, he could get to Frank and Xira, it would only take a minute—

He didn't know where the bullets came from. One minute Jon was preparing to take a shot, and the next minute he felt white-hot pain rip through his chest. The force of the shot knocked him back, causing him to drop his rifle; he pressed a hand to his chest, felt something warm and liquid, and a second later Helia screamed as another bullet torn through her left wing. There was nothing but pain, searing, bone-deep pain, the world spinning around them as both Rider and dragon lost control and plummeted to the ground.

~

Jon was dreaming again, only this time he wasn't surrounded by flames and death. Instead, he felt warm and safe, huddled into something both solid and comforting, a steady rhythm in his ear like a heartbeat counting time. He didn't feel despair or fear, or anything at all, really, except the contented, quiet lull of sleep.

Sleep. Was he in a bed? He tried to move his arms, but felt a sudden tug of pain in his side, and something shifted against him and sighed.

If this was a dream, it was the strangest dream Jon had ever had. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, gazing up at a window full of bright sunlight and blue sky. He lifted his head a little and realized his entire body was stiff and ached as if—

As if he'd nearly died.

To his left, a voice whispered sleepily, "Spence, look, he's awake!"

Jon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, registering the feel of pillows and blankets and soft sheets . He was indeed in a bed, and when he opened his eyes again, he found himself looking straight into Spencer's.

The smile he gave Jon was almost blinding in its relief and happiness. "Hi," he said, reaching his fingertips out to touch Jon's face tentatively. He was curled up next to Jon in the bed, his other hand—the injured one—was curled into the front of Jon's shirt, as if he were afraid Jon would disappear if he didn't hang on to him.

Jon had to swallow a few times before he could get his voice to work properly. "I'm not dead?" he asked roughly. He winced in pain as Spencer's thumb coasted over his cheekbone.

"Of course not," came Brendon's voice from Jon's other side, and Jon felt a soft kiss against his temple. "And you have Ryan to thank for that."

_Ryan._ "Is he—?"

"Sleeping in the room next door," Spencer replied. "He's fine, and not anywhere near as banged up as you are."

"Pete uses this wing of the house as a medical center. He gave us the adjoining rooms he usually keeps for families." Brendon snuggled closer to Jon underneath the blanket, hooking his ankle gently over Jon's. "He'd, uh, seen me and Spence running up and down the halls back and forth, so he figured this would save us some trouble." He laughed sheepishly, as did Spencer.

Jon's head was swimming, though, as he tried to piece together everything that happened. There were snatches of images—dragons flying all around, bullets, voices yelling, Ryan calling after him, and then nothing...

He struggled to sit up, but the pain was too much. "I've got to get to Helia, I have to—"

"Jon." Spencer splayed his hand over Jon's chest and pushed him back against the pillows. "You were shot in the chest. The bullet barely missed your heart." He whispered the last part, ducking his head slightly as his hand tightened in Jon's shirt. "You were unconscious when they brought you back, and—for a while there, we thought..."

Brendon cut in quickly. "Helia's all right, though, she's resting comfortably. And you need to do the same, okay?"

Jon rubbed a hand absently over his chest; he could feel the thick bandages underneath his shirt. He swallowed again and whispered, "Tell me what happened."

Spencer propped himself up on his good elbow and looked over at Brendon. "The mission was successful," he said, a slow smile spreading over his face.

“Frank doesn't think he would've found Xira at all had you not gotten that guard to talk," Brendon said, his fingers skimming over the edge of the bandage at Jon's collarbone. 

Spencer nodded. “Yeah, he’d just about given up hope of finding her.”

Jon gave him a quizzical look. "Really?" 

“Well, they’d found the other dragons they were looking for in a holding pen on the other side of the compound. They were setting charges to free them when you discovered the observation facility.”

Brendon added, “Not only did you manage to help them save the seven they’d planned on, you also rescued three others." He grinned against Jon's shoulder. "Spence isn't sure how it happened, but it seems like Sy and Ryan bonded somehow."

Jon remembed Ryan and the black dragon wobbling in the sky, neither one sure of the other. "But...how?"

Spencer shrugged. "Sy's barely left Ryan's side since you got back. Maybe it was the trauma of the experiments, or the loss of his original Rider, who knows. I don't think cases like Ryan's are very common in the Guild, you know?"

Jon shook his head slowly, wishing his bones didn't ache so much. "How did he...I mean, how did Ryan—?"

"You were shot out of the sky," Brendon whispered. "Ryan managed to have Sy catch you, and Tom and Kyryn caught Helia. Once they got Frank and Xira out, they flew as far as they could until they were sure no one was following. Then they stopped to make sure you where still alive." He hugged his arm a little tighter around Jon's stomach. "Thank god Frank and the others managed to blow up the few dirigibles the patrolmen had on site, or who knows what would've happened to you all."

Through the haze of dull pain, Jon felt wisps of Brendon's overwhelming relief. He could only imagine what he and Spencer had felt once the group had arrived back at the camp.

He laughed hoarsely. "At least I kept my promise, Spence. Sort of."

Spencer huffed, but still pressed his nose to Jon's temple for a moment. "Ryan got grazed several times by bullets, and the stress of riding an emotionally wrecked dragon did a number on him—Sy crash-landed twice—but yeah, you did. But if you'd left us, I'd have killed you myself." He punctuated his words with a soft brush of his lips over Jon's cheek. "Brendon kept telling me to have faith, but it was easier said than done."

Jon smiled crookedly. "How long have I been back?"

"Three days. You should see Frank, he's like a changed man now that he's got Xira back," Spencer said. "Pete's worried the Government will increase raids now that the Resistance has successfully infiltrated their most secret compound, so there's been more talk of strategies and battle plans. Frank's right in the thick of it, especially since Gerard's completed his dragon armor prototype."

Jon sighed, suddenly more exhausted than he realized. "Battle," he whispered as his eyes fluttered shut. "It's only just started, hasn't it?"

"But we can actually fight them now, Jon," Brendon said. Jon felt a bloom of hope from him. "You helped put the pieces in motion, make things more even."

_But at what cost?_ Jon thought, letting his head sink back into the pillows. Would Brendon and Spencer always be waiting for them to come home, never knowing when Jon or Ryan would come back as nothing but a corpse?

_We're all in this together_, came a tired, but determined voice in Jon's head. He looked up and saw Ryan standing in the doorway leading to the adjoining room. His face was bruised, his left arm was bandaged up to his bicep, and his face looked too pale. But he smiled at Jon, a tentative, yet hopeful smile that made the doubt in Jon's mind fade.

"Thought you were asleep," Spencer said with a smirk.

Ryan glared at him, but there was no bite to it at all. If anything, Jon felt intense affection from him, maybe even something more that he'd never noticed before, at least when it came to Ryan and Spencer. "Don't even get me started, Mister I-can-go-on-the-run-with-a-gunshot-wound." He took a few stiff, slow steps, until both Spencer and Brendon got up to help him. Brendon got there first, throwing both arms around Ryan's torso and hugging him tightly as he guided him toward the bed.

"You're impossible," Brendon mumbled into Ryan's cheek, and Spencer laughed and replied, "You're slowly learning," before he cupped the back of Ryan's neck and kissed the corner of his mouth. It suddenly occurred to Jon that the gray linen shirt Spencer wore was one Jon had seen Ryan wear in the past.

'Where's your new friend?" Jon asked. He missed Helia, but deep down he could feel in his soul that she was safe and sound.

Ryan blushed. "I made Sy go downstairs to rest in the den. He's never going to learn to interact with the others if he doesn't leave my room at some point." Jon could feel Ryan's pride and happiness over being able to refer to a dragon as his own. He knew Ryan had a long, long way to go before he'd be completely comfortable in his new lot in life, but having Sy was a step in the right direction, one Jon never thought Ryan would have.

"You should see the two of them together, Jon, they're worse than you and Helia," Brendon said, making a show out of rolling his eyes. But Jon didn't feel any jealousy or bitterness from him, none at all.

"I forgot to mention that Brendon has consistently been spoiling all the rescue dragons," Spencer drawled as he nudged Ryan into the bed with Brendon. The two of them crawled in on Jon's left side, while Spencer reclaimed his spot on the right. The bed wasn't quite big enough for them all, but Jon didn't mind being half buried under Spencer and Brendon, or having Ryan's arm slung over his stomach. He reached down and threaded his fingers with Ryan's, remembering his first night in the mansion and how nervous he'd been trying to find a way to fit with the three of them. But now it felt completely natural to rest his head on Spencer's shoulder as he felt his legs tangle with Brendon's under the blankets.

"I think I should probably sleep some more," Jon whispered as his eyes slipped shut. He felt Ryan squeeze his hand and heard him mumble, fuzzily, half-awake, _Yeah, me too._

Spencer turned his head, his beard a soft scrape over Jon's forehead. "Sleep all you want," he whispered, kissing Jon's eyelids. "We're not going anywhere."

"Ever," Brendon added softly.

~

**epilogue**

The sun was burning a deep, vivid orange as it slowly sunk into the horizon, casting red and pink hues into the sky. Jon splayed his hand over the window, trying to remember the last time he'd seen a sunset so beautiful.

"You want to go sit out on the porch?" Brendon asked softly as he pressed up against Jon's back and carefully wrapped his arms around Jon's waist. "I think I spotted a rocking chair in one of the bedrooms."

Jon grinned and leaned into him, only wincing a little at the pain that still lingered in faded bruises and scars. "So we can be old men and yell at anyone who dares cross into our yard?"

"Of course, what else would we do?" Brendon whispered, kissing the edge of Jon's jaw.

"It's not as warm as it looks, you know. The snow's barely finished melting."

"But it's _melting_, and that's got to count for something." He beamed as Jon turned in his arms and kissed him, just a slow drag of his lips over Brendon's.

Now that they'd moved into the old cabin on the edge of camp that once housed the servants from the main house, it was getting easier for Jon to let himself be open and vulnerable in moments like this. The cabin was much larger and more spacious than the one in Audrey, but it already felt a little like home.

Pete's mansion had offered everything Jon could want—security, comfort, shelter—but Jon felt crowded and stifled there; too many emotions and thoughts surrounding him, and very little space for him to be alone.

Yet when Pete had offered the cabin to Jon, there hadn't been a question as to who would move with him.

Helia lifted her head from where she was curled up in front of the fireplace with Sy and smirked at Jon. _Shouldn't you be helping Spencer with dinner?_ she asked.

Jon pulled reluctantly out of the kiss and feigned a glare at her. _He kicked me out of the kitchen an hour ago, said I still wasn't well enough to handle sharp objects._

She snorted. _You just like being pampered._ It was an ongoing joke between them, and Helia's way of coping with nearly losing Jon. If anything, she pampered Jon more than any of them.

Jon laughed and held up both hands. "Guilty as charged!"

Sy jerked awake at Jon's laughter. His head was resting on the rug in front of the battered paisley armchair, where Ryan was sleeping with a book in his lap. _What, who's guilty?_ he asked in sleepy confusion as he blinked his white eyes at Jon.

_No one's guilty, go back to sleep_, Helia replied affectionately, nudging Sy's hip with her nose. Sy yawned and hummed something unintelligible, laying his head back down at Ryan's feet.

Ryan didn't move a muscle.

Brendon smiled, nudging the tip of his nose against Jon's cheek. "What's so funny?" Jon felt a genuine curiosity from him.

"Helia thinks we've abandoned Spence," Jon said. "I politely reminded her that I've been banned from the kitchen."

"Actually, that's why I came in here, to let you and Ryan know dinner's almost ready." He sighed as he glanced at the paisley chair. "Except Ryan's still worn out from all the training you two did today. Frank's been working you hard this week."

Granted, Jon's training was much less physical until he fully recovered from his injuries; Frank had him working on a series of exercises to help him better control his empathy. But Ryan and Sy were learning how to be Rider and dragon from scratch. At the end of the day, Jon was not nearly as exhausted as they were.

"He'll be fine, go ahead and wake him up." Jon grinned as he nudged Brendon toward Ryan's chair. "You know he wouldn't want to miss dinner."

Brendon laughed softly. "Good point—nothing's worse than a grumpy, hungry Ryan, that's for damn sure." He let go of Jon and stepped carefully over the sleeping dragons before crouching down beside Ryan's chair. Jon watched as Brendon whispered Ryan's name and leaned up slowly to kiss his mouth. Ryan inhaled deeply and, without opening his eyes, he lifted his hand to cup the back of Brendon's neck, holding him steady as he kissed him back.

_All right, I'll wake up for you_, Jon heard Ryan think sleepily.

"Dinner's ready," Jon said on his way past the chair to the kitchen. He paused for a second to scrub his fingers through Ryan's hair. _Feeling okay?_ he added.

_Yeah, just wanna sleep forever_, Ryan replied, but he didn't stop kissing Brendon. _Or maybe just do this for a little while longer..._

"C'mon, let's go eat," Brendon murmured against Ryan's lips. "Spence made that stew you love, and I made pumpkin pie." He'd also made a separate pie for Helia and Sy earlier that morning. Jon had to make Helia promise not to eat the entire thing in one sitting.

In the kitchen, Spencer had his sleeves rolled up as he stirred a large cast-iron pot boiling on the stove. Behind him, the small dinner table was set for four. The chairs were mismatched, collected from all over the camp, with moth-eaten, stained cushions. The dishes were chipped, and a single, melted candle burned in the center, dripping wax onto the wood.

"That smells amazing," Jon said, resting his hip against the edge of the table.

Spencer shoved his hair out his eyes and brought the wooden spoon to his mouth. "It's my mother's old recipe. Jackie says I make it too spicy, but I think it's better that way." He held the spoon out to Jon.

It tasted even better than it smelled. "I'd say you were right," he said, making a show out of smacking his lips.

Spencer laughed. "Is Ryan awake yet?"

"Brendon's working on it."

"I bet he is." He set the spoon down and reached for Jon's hand, threading their fingers together. "I'm glad you decided to do this," Spencer whispered. "I mean, to let us move with you, out here. It feels right."

Jon pulled Spencer closer, trapping their clasped hands against his chest. "Being completely alone is kind of miserable," he whispered back. "Helia would agree with me on that."

"I think Helia realized that long before you did." Spencer smiled crookedly as he traced the curve of Jon's lower lip with his thumb. Jon shivered a little as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment; sometimes, if he concentrated hard enough, he swore he could feel Spencer, even if it was nothing more than a faint wisp of happiness.

"She always did like for me to figure things out for myself."

Jon loved that he didn't need to read Spencer to know when he was about to kiss him; he could tell by the way Spencer's eyes went slightly dark, and the way his breath stuttered a split second before he tilted his head and leaned in.

He was still getting used to the frantic, heady rush that always came whenever Spencer kissed him; it wasn't the comfortable ease he felt with Brendon, it was something a bit more frightening in its intensity. He spread his free hand over Spencer's cheek, which felt warm and flushed underneath the soft scruff of his beard. The kiss deepened a fraction, making Jon's heart beat faster.

_Thought you said dinner was ready_, came Ryan's voice sneaking into Jon's mind, his tone amused and affectionate. Jon felt a soft brush of lips trail over the back of his neck just before he heard Ryan's chuckle. As Ryan grew more and more confident in his telepathic abilities, he would frequently catch Ryan lingering around his thoughts whenever Jon was with Brendon or Spencer. It should have been intrusive, only Jon found himself wanting Ryan in his mind during those moments; it was both a little strange and exciting all at once, like a secret they could share.

"Let Spence go so we can eat, Jon Walker," Brendon said, tugging at the hem of Jon's shirt. "Kissing can wait until after pumpkin pie."

Spencer sighed and rolled his eyes as he let go of Jon, but he grinned at Brendon. "And just what were you and Ry doing before hunger drove you in here?"

"He was saving me from sleeping dragons," Ryan drawled, his voice still rough with exhaustion.

"Yeah, I hear they're quite vicious." Spencer gave Ryan one of their silent looks, one that Jon knew said, _You doing all right?_

Ryan smiled around a yawn and gave Spencer a half-nuzzle, half-kiss on his jaw. "Fine, perfect, ready for food."

"Let me just get Helia and Sy's bowls ready—"

"On it," Brendon said, quickly grabbing the two tin pans and dishing up large portions of stew into both. He took them into the living room and set them by the fire; Helia tended to wait until Sy was rested and ready to eat before digging into her own bowl.

They each filled their own bowls while Spencer opened a new bottle of ale Pete had given them as a housewarming gift. "I haven't had alcohol in years," Spencer said, smiling as he sniffed the open bottle. He poured them all a cup, then held up his own as they stood around the table. "Here's to non-Government-approved liquor, and to Jon's new house."

"_Our_ house," Jon said, flushing happily.

"Walker Manor!" Brendon said, and Ryan shook his head, laughing.

"No, no, it's...it's just our house." Jon's breath caught in his throat as he raised his cup higher. "To being home," he whispered.

"Here, here," the rest of them replied in unison, clinking their cups against Jon's.

_end_


End file.
